


Lady Knight Volant

by Bracketyjack



Series: New Hope [1]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 432,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bracketyjack/pseuds/Bracketyjack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continues <em>Lady Knight</em> to the end of the Scanran War. K/D eventually. A long novel of action and manners, featuring immortals, gods, the timeway, a serious battle, some unlikely topography, and a lot of improbable architecture. Oh, and some haiku.</p><p>Metasummary: Mary Sue? <em>Mary Sue?</em> I'll give you Mary Sue and make you marry her with bells on, so help me an awful lot of gods ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Returning

**Author's Note:**

> This novel is canon compliant with events before Rathhausak, but overwrites the last chapter and epilogue of _Lady Knight_ and shifts the dates of various weddings. Most but not all later canonical and extracanonical facts are adopted.
> 
> There are two continuity problems in _Protector of the Small_ —the missing year in _Squire_ , and the fate of Sergeant Connac. I assume Connac went with Sir Merric and the adult refugees, and lived. I also assume the scale of the map in _Lady Knight_ is correct, not the various distances implied in the text, though I invent topography in the Greenwoods valley to suit myself. The missing year, notionally 457–8 or 458–9 HE, is trickier, and while I assume it was without major incident I adjust canonical dates, so Kel underwent her Ordeal aged 18 at Midwinter 460 (not 459, as in canon). I also posit that Kalasin’s canonically undated marriage to Kaddar took place, and (though it doesn’t fit politically or with regard to Daine’s children) the undated events of ‘The Dragon’s Tale’—so Skysong can talk to humans, and the opal dragon Kawit is sometimes seen in Tortall.
> 
> There are many fic continuations of _Lady Knight_ , some excellent—but none quite did everything I wanted and I make no apology for writing another that does. One purpose was to continue the quartet’s novel-by-novel curve into greater length and more serious concerns, and the rating is for violence, sexuality, and tauroses; I have little interest in being graphic for its own sake, but readers will not be left doubting what has happened. A second grew from the way TP keeps her Tortallan series as distinct as they are interconnected, and my curiosity as to whether, say, Diamondflame ever visited Kitten in Tortall or how the sociopolitical experiment at Dunlath fared during the Scanran war. An infusion from _The Immortals_ gave Kel her knowing animals, so that aspect needed to be projected too. This does mean that Kel and others are growing and changing, and I don’t believe she could survive events at Rathhausak and after without effects that run deep.
> 
> Besides thanks to my beta readers, Scott and Matt, I owe two acknowledgements -- to ConfusedKnight for her remarkable [_Fallen_](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3271761/1/Fallen), now nearing epic completion, from which I take certain Scanran details (including Somalkt and the Bloody Plains), and which first set me wondering about the plot-value of tauroses; and to Sarramaks, for her splendid [_Festival Sequence_](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2796550/1/FESTIVAL-SEQUENCE), which gave me the notion of using the old quarter-day and cross-quarter-day celebrations as a structuring principle.
> 
> For those who like visual aids, I've posted my working plan of New Hope and a cross-section of the palisades, glacis, and moat at my [LiveJournal account](http://bracketyjack.livejournal.com/) \-- use the tag 'map'.
> 
> In the language of heraldry a bird _volant_ is shown in flight.

**Part I – Samradh**

_June – August, 461 HE_

  

**Chapter One — Returning**

_15–18 June_

 

“We can’t go much further tonight, Kel.”

            Trudging beside Peachblossom in the summer dusk the grim-faced young woman in armour looked wearily round at Neal, walking beside Magewhisper. Each warhorse bore three young children, and though neither animals nor people were complaining she could see how tired all were. Behind her many children were nodding as they rode or stumbling as they walked, and the half-starved adult refugees were close to exhaustion. Looking ahead she could see Dom’s squad on point were faring better, but the sparrows who had been scouting for them had begun to roost on the warhorses’ manes. Uinse and the other convict soldiers were struggling, and all the dogs had lolling tongues. Kel’s own legs were a burning, leaden ache, but had she been on her own she would have walked until she dropped.

            “No, I know.”

            Neal grimaced sympathy with the frustration in her voice. Since leaving Castle Rathhausak in flames behind them four days before they had seen no sign of pursuit, but just being in enemy territory made his shoulder-blades itch. For Kel the responsibility of command made it worse, and he knew she had despite everything hoped to reach Tortallan soil today, or at least to contact the smugglers. When in mid-morning Tobe had been able to summon from the river-meadows the Scanran horses he’d persuaded to wait there a week before, on their outward journey, Neal had himself hoped that with extra mounts they might make it today. But logistics dictated otherwise. Driven as all were by fear of pursuit and hope of sanctuary, sixteen knights and soldiers, one-hundred-and-eighty-three rescued children ranging from infancy to the cusp of adulthood, three injured Tortallan civilians, and more than forty painfully thin Scanran refugees did not—could not—cover ground at more than a walk. Without the scores of horses they’d taken from the stables at Rathhausak it wouldn’t have been even that.

            “We need to be in better shape to cross the Vassa anyway. And Mithros knows what the smugglers will say when we show up, especially if the others crossed a few days back.”

            He saw Kel try to summon a grin, then simply nod.

            “I’ve wondered about that. We’re hardly what they bargained for. But the flatboats Stenmun used might be on this side of the Vassa, and I want to take all the horses across if we can. Else we’ll be crawling for another week to reach Mastiff.” Kel stumbled, righting herself with effort and reaching up to steady the five-year-old sitting on her shoulders. “Sorry, Meech,” she murmured, but the boy hadn’t woken from the doze Neal’s healing of his gashed leg had induced.

            “Mmm. Flatboats. Lovely.” Neal’s mind caught up with his mouth, and he frowned. “You think they’ll refuse us help?”

            “No.” Without Meech’s weight and her wound Kel might have shrugged. “We’d have nowhere to go, and I think that old mage would weigh in. But I don’t want to be leaving a trail of IOUs. It won’t help.”

            Neal thought about that, blinking. “Help with what?”

            Kel’s look tried for Yamani-blank but was tinged with emotions he couldn’t identify.

            “With whatever charges we face. Dom and his men are covered by Raoul’s orders, but I don’t know about the rest of us. And there’s the Scanran refugees too—that’s already a hefty bill for food and shelter.”

            Neal blinked again. “Kel, you can’t seriously be worrying about that? We’re _heroes_ , for Mithros’s sake!” His voice was indignant. “We’ve rescued more than four hundred people—I still can’t believe it—and killed almost as many Scanrans. Even the Stump’s not going to punish you for that!”

            Kel sighed, again reaching up to steady Meech. “Who says the decision’ll be in his hands? Neal, every one of us under arms, except Dom and his squad, is guilty of whatever mix of disobedience, mutiny, desertion, and treason General Vanget or the King chooses to charge us with.” Her forehead creased. “I hope and pray _you_ are safe, on your father’s account and as a healer, and I’ve more-or-less persuaded myself that if they don’t charge you they can’t charge Merric, Esmond, or Seaver. And the other ranks and convicts can say they just did as they were ordered.” She grimaced. “But I’m worried for Owen.”

            Neal frowned, surprised by the political flavour and not liking the implications. “And you, Kel? You really think you’ll face a charge of some kind? What about _your_ father’s account? Your parents are central to the Yamani treaty.”

            “Maybe so, but I can’t hide behind the treaty. It might compromise Cricket and Yuki. And Roald. They have a bad enough time of it already.”

            “What? Why does Yuki have a bad time of it?”

            Kel shook her head, as much as Meech’s dangling legs allowed. “Just as Yamanis, Neal—funny-faced barbarians, remember, defiling the realm. Do you really want to add association with treason?”

            “Only the dimmest conservatives could think that.”

            This time Kel did manage a crooked grin. “Who are among the most important and vocal, Meathead.” The grin faded. “Think about it, Neal. If the King knows—and I bet he does—the Council will be involved, and some of the worst conservatives are on it. What kind of golden opportunity do you think my undoubted mutiny and arguable treason offers them?” Neal scowled. “They’ll be drooling for my head. And what kind of defence is rescuing _commoners_? Bringing extra foreign mouths to feed when we can barely feed our own?”

            Neal’s scowl became thunderous. “And killing the necromancer whose machines were Scanra’s best weapons and whom everyone’s been searching for since the war began? Not to mention burning Maggot’s castle. Kel, I know you don’t like Jonathan, and Mithros knows I don’t blame you, but he’s not stupid. You’ve done a great thing, and he’ll see that.” He paused, looking at Kel, before adding shrewdly, “He’ll also know, as will the Stump and Vanget, that if he tries to punish you as a sop to conservatives who haven’t left Corus since the war began, he’ll have a _lot_ of very unhappy people to contend with.”

            Kel shook her head minutely again. “The Lioness can’t shield me from this, Neal, nor should she. She has her own duty to discipline.”

            “I didn’t mean my esteemed former knight mistress, Kel, or even Raoul, Buri, the Wildmage, and Master Numair—though their collective anger is … well, unimaginable, actually.” He was rewarded with a ghostly grin. “I didn’t even mean all the Tortallan refugees you’ve just rescued, though I bet they’d be pretty vocal too.”

            “So who did you mean?”

            “The Own and the rank-and-file of the army.”

            Kel’s eyebrows rose. “Who have what to do with the price of peas in Persopolis?”

            Neal managed a tired snort. “You have no idea how they think of you, have you?” Needing no answer he pushed on. “You know the troops assigned to Haven as well as any commander can, and the refugees in your care. But you only see the rank-and-file of the army or the Own in passing or in battle, except for Dom’s squad, and you think they’re exceptions because you happened to be in command when you all met that first killing device. But I see them when they’re injured, or visiting friends who are, or trying to scrounge herbs and balms. And I _know_ what they say about you. Even what they feel.”

            They trudged on for a bit, feeling the strain as the trail rose towards a bend. Neal entertained himself watching the struggle on Kel’s face. She was so tired—and, he suspected, in so much pain from her half-healed wound and morbid thoughts—that her Yamani mask was barely working, and he had long ago learned to read her blankness better than most. It wasn’t until the trail flattened, narrowing as it turned into a wood, that she gave in.

            “So what do they think and even feel, Wise Healer?”

            The mock-title stung a little, but Mithros knew she needed all the comfort she could get, though he thought her fears exaggerated.

            “They admire you.” He tried for a healer’s detached tone. “Love you, even, as a symbol, yes, but also as a reality. ‘Protector of the Small’ will just cap it.” Her bewildered look was pleasing, and a rueful memory drifted into his mind of Tobe explaining with barely suppressed laughter that Peachblossom savaged him so often because ‘he likes the noise you make when you’re bit’. “Kel, besides the Own and the soldiers at Haven, a _lot_ of companies have rotated through Steadfast and Mastiff since this war began. The sentries and night patrols see you waving that glaive every morning before dawn. Soldiers talk to one another, you know, and they hear from the refugees too, about the way you’ve trained them and how you run Haven.”

            Kel blinked. “They do?”

            “Of course they do, Kel. More than half the Haven adults are women, many single or widowed, and those are in short supply at army forts in wartime. With all the training in self-defence you’ve given them, they’re also pretty picky about whom they see. So word passes—along with other things—and by now I shouldn’t think there’s a soldier on this front who doesn’t know about the Lady Knight Commander.” He summoned strength to wave a hand airily. “And it’s not that freak-show woman warrior thing you hate so much. It’s the noble lady who backs her commoners against all comers, the green commander whose first act was to throw her predecessor’s whip into the midden, the woman who rescued an orphaned horsemage from an abusive master”—he grinned—“and the twelve-year-old page who took the mean-dog skinner Breakbone Dell squarely in the tripes.”

            Neal cursed himself as Kel’s wide eyes darkened with painful memory of Gil Lofts, who had spread that tale and burned in the Tortallan pyre at Rathhausak, but he was saved further mistakes as they rounded another bend to emerge from trees into a small valley with a stream chuckling through its meadow. Dom’s scouts had halted on the far side and the man himself waited a dozen yards ahead, eyebrows raised in silent question. Kel nodded and without breaking stride swung round to walk backwards, producing a version of her command voice that made everyone listen without stopping them in their tracks.

            “People! We’re entering a small valley with a stream, and we’ll camp here tonight. Children, keep together, older caring for younger, and find a latrine area. Don’t bother digging trenches, but make sure it’s downstream of the camp. Owen’s in charge. Dom and his squad on sentry duty. Uinse, you and yours on KP, and gather dry firewood.” There were tired cheers, and Kel smiled. “We’ve seen no-one and we need hot food, but douse them as soon as cooking’s done. Civilians, please help the cooks and children as you can, but stay inside the perimeter. Tobe and Zerhalm, the horses, ponies, and dogs. Any blisters, sores, or footrot to Sir Neal. All clear?”

            A lone voice called back. “And what are you doing, Lady Kel?”

            Kel scowled magnificently. “Writing a report with no paper and less ink, Jacut. Elsewise the army’ll stop in its tracks, you know that.”

            A murmuring laugh went up, and Neal grinned. “See, Kel? I told you.”

 

* * * * *

 

Kel had actually completed her report the night before, unable to sleep, and to update it with the extra horses and absence of Scanran troops throughout the day took only a moment. Then she wandered round, checking with Tobe and Zerhalm that the animals were alright and feeding sleepy sparrows berries she’d collected during the day. She also slipped Peachblossom a wrinkled apple she’d kept back from her own rations, and leaned against his warm bulk before forcing herself back to her rounds. After making sure the firewood was bone dry, and seeing the cooks start to heat soup and stew game the dogs had caught during the day, she headed over to the children, trying to radiate good cheer. Their courage amazed her, but despite the lack of complaint she knew all were suffering not only the pains of riding and walking for so long but also the lingering terrors of their abduction. Owen had been wonderful with them throughout the journey, and even now was patiently helping some five- and six-year-olds scared of the dark yards to the latrine area, but he was deeply grieved by the loss of Happy and not his usual, ebullient self at all.  With Loesia and other older ones Kel cuddled and played with the littles, offering the solace of attention and her determination that they would all soon be safe.

            After a while, having seen to the adults’ needs, Neal joined them, checking for blisters and bruises and pulsing bursts of his Gift into small hands, thighs, and feet. After dealing with some grim saddle-sores on a mute eight-year-old he sat beside Kel as she finished a story about Daine winning a snow-fight one Midwinter by transforming herself into an ice-bear.

            “I remember that. Master Numair was still shouting about her cheating when she rolled him into a snowdrift.” He grinned at the avid children. “The complaints went on until Imbolc, at least! But what of you, Lady Knight? Any blisters to be healed? And how’s your shoulder? I’ve still some juice left.”

            Kel smiled wryly. Neal had half-recovered from draining his Gift at Rathhausak, saving her as well as Tobe, Saefas, and two of the convicts and trying vainly to save Gil Lofts, but thin rations, little sleep, daily slog, and the constant call for minor healings were no recipe for swift recharge.

            “It’s well enough, Neal.” And hurt abominably. “Save yourself against need. And to get better faster”—she gathered the littles with her eye and they chorused with her—“eat your vegetables!”

            Neal scowled. “Conspiracy! You have no respect! It’s meat I need to be a proper meathead, not all that green stuff.” The hushed giggles of the children were a kind of music, he thought, but as he cudgelled his brains for more jokes to offer Dom came to report.

            “Fires lit, soup heating, rabbits and squirrels stewing nicely, and perimeter secure, Kel. No alarms, but those stormwings who’ve been following us have roosted nearby—again.”

            “The same ones? You’re sure?”

            “Yes. I recognise that female Yamani one who was watching us at the castle.” He frowned. “They’re keeping their distance. And keeping quiet.” A shrug. “Do you want me to try to speak to them?”

            “No.” Kel shook her head. “Leave well alone, and let’s hope they do the same. But make sure all the sentries know where they are, please.”

            “Will do. Food’ll be ready soon, younglings.”

            They cheered quietly as he walked away and Kel marvelled again at their spirit.

            “Alright, then. Everyone ready to eat? Hands and faces washed?”

            By the time the children regathered, soup was ready—watered to stretch, but very welcome just the same. With so many mouths and such pressing haste food was a serious problem, and only the trail rations and cured meats they’d taken from Rathhausak had made it possible for all to have enough to keep going—but supplies for two-hundred-and-forty-six people walking more than a hundred miles over the best part of a week meant packhorses, forcing children who might have ridden to walk and slowing their progress down the Pakkai and Smiskir valleys. The dogs—and the one cat—had helped enormously with rabbits and squirrels they’d brought in, asking only for the guts and lights, but without the boarhound Shepherd, another casualty at Rathhausak, none could take larger game even if they started some. After tonight no soup-balls remained, breakfast would use the last trail rations, and Kel was horribly aware that if the smugglers—or if they were lucky, Tortallan troops—couldn’t feed them tomorrow, she’d have no choice but to slaughter at least one horse. Tobe knew it too, and was grimly determined it wouldn’t come to that.

            The convict ladling out portions of rabbit-and-squirrel stew peered at Kel shrewdly before making sure she got some extra meat, withering her protest with a glance at the visible gauntness of her wrist as she held out her plate. She also received an oversize portion of a tasteless vegetable mass that might once have been roots, and after finishing the few mouthfuls of stew applied herself conscientiously to it with sidelong glances at Neal that drew a scowl from him and laughter from the nearest children.

            “Just think of the advantages, Neal. You’ll never be able to complain about regular vegetables again.”

            His scowl deepened comically. “No vegetables are regular. And advantages for whom?”

            “Yuki, mostly. And everyone who ever eats with you.”

            “Ha. My Yamani rose completely understands the horror of vegetables.” He frowned. “Though why she thinks pickling everything helps is a mystery even to me.”

            Kel laughed. “Yuki made _tsukemono_? Good for her. Did she tell you there are markets in the Islands that sell nothing else? Just hundreds and hundreds of pickles.”

            “She said something like that, but there can’t really be _hundreds_ of pickles, can there? There aren’t that many different vegetables.”

            “Of course there are. But it’s not just _what_ you pickle, it’s what you pickle it _in_. There’s brine and vinegar, of course—but Yamanis use _sake_ , cider, beers, oils, and wines of all kinds, and any of those can be specially flavoured. I remember loving the smell the first time I visited a pickle-market, when I sneaked out with the palace cooks who were buying supplies. I think I was six.” She smiled at the memory as she chewed her last, tasteless mouthful, wishing she had some _umeboshi_ now; the tart sweetness of the pickled plums would help anything go down. “Will you and Yuki visit the Islands on honeymoon?”

            Neal’s face softened. “War permitting. After I proposed to her the Lioness helped us speak to her parents, in the fire, but she wants me to meet them properly.”

            “And show you off to her many cousins, I should think, as well as around the palace. You’ll be toast.”

            “A fate I shall meet with my usual wit and dignity.”

            “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

            The banter was cheering, and Kel could see the children relaxing with the warmth in their bellies and the humour in adult voices, but her fears weighed on her as bitterly as a new training-harness. To have exposed herself to a justified call for her head was, she knew all too well, the stupidest thing she could possibly have done, but she also knew that in the same circumstances she’d do it again, unhesitatingly. The possibility of having to make such a decision had been a bruise in her mind ever since the Chamber had shown her its appalling vision of Blayce’s workshop, and one part of her still felt a kind of relief that at least the waiting was over, come what may. But that _may_ was fearful, and at worst might prove a bitter social and political shame for her family as well as a place on Traitor’s Hill for herself. The thought of the pain she might cause those she loved made her cringe, though she hoped and believed her punishment would be kept an army matter. King Jonathan had always preferred clean hands.

            Pushing down the black mood she hauled herself upright, wincing at the stiffness already gathering in her legs, and collected empty bowls from the children to rinse and return to the cooks. Uinse, Jacut, and the other convict soldiers on KP had needed no orders to feed themselves or to keep soup and stew back for Dom’s squad, whom they now relieved on watch. She greeted her first true comrades-in-arms softly as they drifted in from the perimeter, and sat with them companionably as they ate. Fulcher and Lofren were the squad’s first losses since Derom and Symric had been killed at Forgotten Well the year before, and the deaths had hit them hard, especially Dom. Like Owen, he’d been unflagging but without his usual cheer, and her own grief left her feeling she had nothing to offer him in comfort; not that anything anyone could offer would change the facts. The convict squads, issued inferior equipment and far less well trained despite her efforts in the time she and Merric had had charge of them, had suffered much more seriously, losing six of fourteen at Rathhausak as well as the man they’d found hanged by the slavers at Pakkai junction—but they hadn’t been together as long and had yet to develop the intense camaraderie of the Own.

            Clearing his plate, Dom set it down and looked around.

            “Same shifts as last night, and keep an eye on those stormwings.” They all nodded. “Orders for tomorrow, Lady Kel? Straight on to the main crossing or turn off for the smugglers’ den?”

            “Straight on, Dom. We’re too many for the narrow tracks, and it would add miles to the journey. I’m hoping there’ll be flatboats this side of the Vassa, but if they’re on the Tortallan side we’ll have to ask the smugglers to run them across to us.”

            “Makes sense.” He paused. “I’m half-expecting a picket at the crossing, though, if the other lot made it back with the adults. I don’t know how long it would have taken them with so many on foot, but from their trail-sign they’re at least three days ahead of us, so they should have reached Tortall two days ago, latest. Maybe three. And with any luck they’ll have met a patrol and got messengers off. It depends who’s making decisions but I’ll be surprised if a lot of orders haven’t already been given.”

            Kel nodded, having made the same calculations herself. “Let’s hope so. But while I’ve got you all here there is one other thing, because we might not like some of those orders.”

            To her surprise it was Wolset who broke the tense silence.

            “Worried about punishments, Lady Kel? Sir Neal said you was. But he’s right—we’re the heroes, this time.”

            “I hope so, Wolset. And I thank the gods you’re all protected by my Lord’s orders. But however you cut it, Owen and all the knights, including me, are likely to be in hot water. But _whatever_ happens to us I don’t want any of you getting yourselves in trouble protesting.” She held up a hand to forestall retorts. “I mean it. If it _is_ bad, and it might be, it’ll be dangerous to mess with. But what I really wanted to ask you all was to look out for Tobe, if I can’t. Get him to Onua Chamtong, will you? Or to Daine. He’ll be safe and valued there.”

            “We will, Kel. _I_ will. But for once I agree with Sir Meathead—you’re not thinking straight.” Dom’s look was as shrewd as the convict’s who’d served her food. “Almost as if you think you _ought_ to be punished for what happened at Haven, rather than rewarded for an astonishing rescue and killing that godshat mage.”

            He spat aside as Kel blinked surprise at his blasphemy, a rarity despite often colourful language with his men.

            “But I don’t think my Lord’ll see it that way, or even Sir Meathead’s Stump.” Dom stood, stretching. “Nor yet the King. But that’s for later. For now, first shift, on your way, and let Uinse’s boys get some kip. I’ll bed down here until third shift—wake me at need and take no chances. Clear?” There were nods all round. “Walk with me a moment, Kel? I haven’t shown you where the stormwings are.”

            “Of course.” She let him pull her up, feeling even in her bone-weariness a little heartflutter at his touch and the concern in his blue eyes. But nothing showed in her face: she’d realised long ago that her scarred, thickset body could offer nothing like the graceful curves Dom sought out at the Palace, and she wouldn’t risk a crucial friendship over hopeless mooning. As the squad headed back on watch or to their bedrolls, they walked slowly upstream, stopping short of the perimeter where Alden of Uinse’s squad stood guard. The convict’s mark on his forehead showed pale as he turned to look at them, nodding respect before looking outwards again. Their own eyes automatically scanned the meadow and the darker treeline beyond. Dom spoke quietly without turning his head.

            “I’ve been thinking about the reports we need to make, Kel. Not just the combat report, though that’s going to make good reading, but the situation report.” He paused, tensing as an owl hooted in the forests, then eased again. “Real one. Of course the King needs to know about Blayce’s death, if he doesn’t already. But I reckon the story those villagers have to tell ought to be made known, among Scanran soldiers as well as our own.” He glanced at her, then looked at his feet. “Until this week they were just the enemy to me, you know, but now I’m wondering how many of the soldiers we’ve been fighting knew how those killing devices were made. A liegelord who kills his own liegers’ children …”

            “I know, Dom, and I’ll say so, believe me. Burning the castle will mean something to Scanrans too—it’s a _blódbeallár_ challenge, their blood and clan law. Besides, if the villagers are known witnesses as victims of Maggur’s atrocities it’ll secure their protection as well.”

            “Still thinking of others.” His voice was wry. “And what of the commander who rescued them? No, don’t answer. Just tell me if you’re going to bother telling anyone the Chamber of the Ordeal was involved.”

            Kel waited as Wolset passed them on his way to relieve Alden and the convict headed back to camp.

            “That’s tricky, Dom. You saw how Merric and the others reacted to anything about the Chamber. If even my friends don’t really believe me, why should anyone else?” He was silent. “I have to mention Irnai to explain why the villagers were so ready to help us, and anyone who sees her eyes will know she’s one of Shakith’s chosen. But if I start saying the Chamber chose me specially … well, my Lord might believe me, but gods, imagine the fuss and jeering there’d be.” She strove to keep bitterness out of her voice, looking away from him. “You know Stone Mountain and his cronies already claim I’ve corrupted the Chamber by being allowed to enter it, and I’ve just handed them a giant Midsummer gift by inviting any one of three capital charges. I don’t think either saying I’m a special case or admitting to nightmares and hearing voices would help.”

            When she looked back at Dom he was staring at her. “You do have witnesses, you know,” he said gently. “Neal, Owen, and I all heard it speak through Irnai.”

            “And how do you know that was the Chamber?”

            “You said it was …” His voice tailed away. “Oh. Mithros.”

            “Exactly. There’s no proof at all, Dom, unless the Chamber provides some, and I can’t count on that. It’s got no manners anyway.”

            Her grumpiness provoked a short laugh but Dom’s eyes were troubled. “Even so, Kel, promise me you’ll tell my Lord, Lord Wyldon, and the King? They ought to know and the King can truthspell you if he wants.”

            Kel thought about it. “Alright, Dom, those three. But why do you think they need to know? There’s nothing any of them can do about it.”

            It was his turn to look away.

            “I’m not sure, but I feel it’s so.” He hunched inside his filthy tunic. “I’ve never been much for talking of the gods. I’m a soldier. I just get on with what needs doing. But that old mage said the hand of fate was on you, and when I heard that awful voice come out of a little girl I knew the gods were watching us and I think they still are. In any case, the King should know what the Chamber did in case it happens again.”

            “I suppose. And I do promise. Now, where are those stormwings?”

            He accepted the change of subject and gestured up the valley. “About half-a-mile, to the west. Why do you think they’re following us?”

            Kel shook her head. “I don’t know, Dom. They’ve spoken to me twice now. When I was between Haven and Giantkiller one mocked me—well, rebuked me really—for assuming they’d defile a body I found. One of the clerks, who’d bled out. But back at Haven that Yamani female said they were half-sorry to have soiled our dead because it was a refugee camp.” Anger laced her voice. “She also said I was the only Tortallan commander who didn’t let them have the enemy dead, and if I had they might have restrained themselves. That’s partly why I left them the Scanran dead at Rathhausak.”

            “Partly?”

            She sighed. “If anyone ever deserved to be stormwing toys it was Stenmun and his crew. And we couldn’t burn or bury them, so I hoped for a profit on necessity. But I really don’t think the stormwings will try to harm us, and they might even warn us of any Scanrans. This will sound odd, but I think they might be guarding us, in a way. Daine once told me they like children, and feel for them.”

            “They do?”

            “Apparently. She said they have a hard time birthing their own young, and don’t like to see anyone’s mistreated. So maybe we’re in their good books just now.”

            “Huh. You never know what’ll you’ll learn next.” A genuine smile lit his face and her heart fluttered again. “You realise that makes them surprisingly like you? Terrors of the battlefield with soft spots for any youngling in trouble?” He laughed aloud at the indignation on her face. “Protector of the Small.”

            “Oy!” She punched his arm, without force. “I hate that name.”

            “Get used to it, Kel. It’s going to stick.” She made a face and he laughed again, softly. “I promise I’ll make Wolset stick to ‘Mother’, though, so you can rest easy.” He dodged a fist with more power behind it. “Hey, it’s better than ‘Sir Meathead’, isn’t it?”

            “Not by much, Dom. And if you tell _anyone_ you think I’m like a stormwing, Tortall will not be big enough to hide in. That’s a promise too.”

            He raised his hands in mock-surrender, pleased to have lightened her mood. “Of course. But in that case we’d best shut up before we attract Wolset’s attention any more. We should get our heads down anyway if we’re moving at dawn.”

 

* * * * *

 

With everyone eager to reach Tortall they were on the move before dawn. The high cloud cover of recent days had cleared overnight and the waning gibbous moon gave enough light to break camp. The children ate the remaining rations on the move, and false dawn found them all more than a mile on their way. Soon sunshine began slanting across trees and meadows soft with summer growth, lifting hearts and hopes; the sparrows flew off to scout, and Kel picked up the pace a little. Of the stormwings there was no sign.

            With the sun still rising the trail topped a hill and they came to the true valley of the Vassa, catching a first glimpse of its waters sparkling to the south. Stepping up for a moment on Peachblossom’s stirrup, Kel realised they were a lot closer to the crossing-point than she’d thought, then whipped her head round as she heard Dom’s voice and Jump’s bark raised in challenge up the trail. A man had stepped out of the trees a dozen yards in front of them, hands wide.

            Calling a command to halt Kel dropped back to the ground, told Peachblossom to stay with Neal, and forced herself into a jog. Coming closer she realised it was one of the smugglers they’d met on the far bank; his gaze raked her, then flicked to the children on Peachblossom’s and Magewhisper’s backs.

            “You got your younglings, then. All of them?” He spoke in Common.

            “Yes, we got them.”

            “And the Kinslayer?”

            “Dead, with his mage-master.”

            “Ah.” His fist clenched. “Whose hand?”

            Kel blinked. “Mine, if it matters. The castle’s burned, too. And the survivors of Rathhausak village are with us.”

            “Ah.” He spat aside and then to Kel’s complete astonishment bowed to her. “Old Gella was right, Lady. Fate walked with you. And if ever a man needed killing, it was the Kinslayer.”

            Kel shrugged, wincing as her wound pulsed. “No argument from me. And thank you.” She decided there was no point in fencing. “Have you seen the other knights and the adults?”

            “Ay, we took them across three nights back. All two hundred and more.” He shook his head as Kel felt a weight lift from her. “More like ferrymen than honest smugglers.”

            She grinned. “Come peacetime you could try it. Do you know if the flatboats are on this side of the water?”

            He grinned back. “They’re not. But there’s a bunch of maroon soldiers guarding them on the other, and a picket on this, with the ropes strung.” Kel and Dom both sighed relief and the smuggler grinned again. “You won’t need us today—and a good thing if you’ve as many horses as I reckon you must.” He glanced up at the clear sky. “Good weather, too. The Vassa’s running calm as she ever does and you needn’t worry about Maggur’s men. They crossed to the west ten days back, and lost a battle the day after full moon. No survivors made it back this far east and there’s none within ten miles now. I think luck walks with you as well as fate, Lady.”

            He turned back towards the trees.

            “Wait.” Kel closed the distance between them and stuck out her hand. “Thank you, for everything. We wouldn’t have made it in time without your help, and your news now is trebly welcome.”

            His eyebrows rose but he took her hand gingerly. “You made good use of our help, Lady, and many beside me will drink to the Kinslayer’s death this night.”

            She let him go and he vanished among the trees in less than a minute. Dom shook his head, and Nari peeped apologetically from his shoulder.

            “Like a ghost. Sorry, Lady Kel. We should have flushed him earlier. I’ll be having words. Still, trebly welcome is right—the others all safe and help waiting at the crossing.”

            Kel nodded, and gave a sharp whistle to summon Peachblossom and tell Wolset, with the rearguard, to get everyone else moving again. Dom looked at her thoughtfully.

            “You think he’s telling the truth there’s no-one to hear us, then?”

            “Yes.  Remember Owen’s tale of a major Scanran crossing at the full moon? It explains why we’ve seen no-one. Go find that picket and get the flatboats brought across?”

            “Will do, Kel.”

            It was three miles before a side-trail forked off through a wooded notch in the bluffs and snaked down to the Vassa. Dom and his squad were clustered round four men in army maroon, and behind them Kel could see three flatboats being hauled across by more soldiers on thick ropes spanning the river. As she and Peachblossom trudged up to the talking men a hard-faced sergeant she didn’t recognise stood forward and saluted her, eyes straying back along the column.

            “Lady Knight. Sergeant Domitan says you have the refugee children and about forty Scanrans wanting sanctuary?”

            “We do, yes. Two-hundred-and-forty-six people, all told, Sergeant, including one-hundred-and-eighty-three children. Plus eleven dogs, a cat, and about one-hundred-and-eighty horses and ponies.”

            He whistled, but army discipline and experience held. “Well, that’ll take some ferrying. We’ll get started as soon as the boats get across.” He glanced back at the men hauling on the river. “Five minutes, about. You’re to head straight to Mastiff, my Lady. The other refugees you sent back with Sir Merric are there. There’s not enough barrack-space inside, so some are in tents outside the walls, but we couldn’t feed ’em anywhere else.”

            “Very well. And speaking of food, do you have any spare, Sergeant? The children have gone short for days.”

            He looked at her steadily. “You too, my Lady, by your face. We weren’t issued much more than trail-rations but we’ve taken some small game. I’ll get it heating and send word to Mastiff you need a cook-wagon to meet you tomorrow. For tonight, there’s a way-point about twenty miles east with enough for a full company at least.”

            “Thank you, Sergeant. That all sounds good. Now, how is this going to work?”

            It took the rest of the morning and half the afternoon, as well as heroic efforts by Tobe and Zerhalm in coaxing the horses and ponies onto the rocking flatboats. Kel dreaded to think what it would have been like without fresh soldiers working in relay on the ropes. She also sent silent thanks to any gods who might be listening for the sunshine and relative benignity of the fierce river. By common consent the children went first, older mixed among younger to keep them together on the far side and help with feeding them. When all were across the long process of ferrying horses began, Scanran adults among them in fours and fives to keep them calm, until only Kel and the friends who had accompanied her north were left to clamber aboard with their warhorses and be drawn slowly back to the Tortallan bank.

            By the time they disembarked most children were already remounted and within a few minutes the motley column was again underway. Five soldiers from the picket reinforced Dom’s squad as point and rearguard, and in little more than an hour the trail spilled onto the main road between Northwatch and Frasrlund. The broader, well-kept pathway allowed the horses to spread out and their pace to quicken, and as the sun westered Kel realised with a tightening chest that the younger children had begun to talk and laugh as they rode. She met Neal’s eyes and knew he shared her emotion.

            “I hadn’t realised how unnatural their silence was. Or how good it would be hear them sound carefree again.”

            “Me either. I’ll sleep better tonight than I have for a while. They will, too, as the nightmares fade.”

            “Let’s hope so. Are there any you’re worried about?” Kel shook her head. “What a dumb question. What they lived through was giving me nightmares from five hundred miles away.”

            “I knew what you meant, and yes, there’s some who’ll need help. Maybe for a while.” Neal gave a crooked smile. “We never really talk about this sort of thing, except among healers, and there isn’t usually much we can do except listen to people. Just make sure their carers know, if a child starts to talk about it, don’t hush them, let it spill.” His face grew thoughtful. “It’s like infection, I think. Talking’s a way of draining the wound so it can heal.”

            Kel chewed on the idea, wondering what her Yamani and Tortallan selves thought. “That makes sense. I danced round this with Yuki and Cricket once, when they were having a heart-to-heart about something. But they tried to use my experience with my ma and the raiders as an example, and I loved that memory so I didn’t really understand what they were saying.”

            Neal looked at her sidelong. “You should have told them about your dear brother dangling you off a tower.”

            No longer batophobic, Kel still winced at the memory. “But it was real heights that scared me, not dream ones.” She frowned, searching her mind. “Come to think of it, I never really had nightmares before I met the Chamber.”

            “Those ‘Nothing Man’ visions Tobe mentioned?”

            “Yes. And before that one with Lalasa and Cricket and everyone being auctioned off to Joren, or killed when he rejected them.”

            “What?” Neal’s eye were wide. “When was this?”

            “After Joren’s trial. I tested myself against the Chamber door, and that was what it showed me. For months I saw it whenever I slept.”

            “Wait. You touched the Chamber door again?”

            “Of course I did. Doesn’t everyone?”

            His eyebrows almost reached the unkempt hair sticking out under his helmet. “No, Kel, they don’t. And I told you not to. Why did you? Because of what Joren said at the trial?”

            “No. not really. I was doing it anyway, and that’s what happened that time.”

            “ _That_ time? Kel, please don’t tell me you did this more than twice?”

            She stared at him with genuine puzzlement. “Of course I did, about every six months. I thought you all did, but no-one said anything because you don’t, about the Chamber, and because it’s all too personal and horrible anyway.” A thought clicked. “Are you telling me that when you entered the Chamber for your Ordeal you’d only approached it _once_ before?”

            “Too right I am. Once is plenty.”

            Kel stared again. “Neal, that’s crazy. Don’t you believe in scouting?”

            “Oh, I like that. _You_ put yourself through tortures no-one else even thinks of doing and _I’m_ crazy?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “All I can say, Kel, is that if you were chatting on a regular basis with that, that, sessile psychopath, no wonder it picked you for a mission.”

            “Huh.” They walked on, each digesting surprise. “What’s a sessile psychopath?”

            “A criminal lunatic that stays in one place.”

            “Huh.” A long pause. “It’s not mad. Or criminal. It’s just not human, nor mortal. Master Numair said it was an elemental, but I never really understood what that is.” A shorter pause. “And you heard it talking through Irnai. That’s not staying in place.”

            “True.” He frowned. “You should tell someone about that, actually. Who knows what the mobile psychopath will do next?”

            “Oh hush.” They passed a berry bush and Kel grabbed a handful for the sparrows who flitted back to rest on Peachblossom’s mane between scouting patterns. “Dom said I should report it as well.”

            “For once he’s right. Joking aside, Kel, the King ought to know it happened. It might happen again. And Lord Padraig, I suppose, in case it happens to anyone else.”

            “I promised him I would.” A very long pause. “I’ve been regretting it ever since.”

            “Why?”

            “Why d’you think, Neal? The Girl claims a special relationship with the Chamber of the Ordeal. Right.” Her voice dropped to a mutter. “Perhaps I slept with it, somewhere between all of you and Third Company.”

            Despite himself Neal laughed, then sobered. “I see your point, Kel, but Dom _is_ right. This truth matters more than those stupid conservative lies.”

            “Maybe.”

            They rode in companionable silence, listening to the children, as shadows lengthened and the long dusk began. It was almost over, the summer stars beginning to show, when they came to the way-point, a clearing on the far side of a little ford, to find Dom’s squad and the army men had already started fires and set cauldrons of soup and what smelled like boar stew heating. They’d also broken out bales of hay for the horses and ponies, who pushed forward impatiently as they were relieved of their burdens and unsaddled. Kel secured some for Peachblossom before turning back to the mob of waiting children.

            With extra hands available end-of-day chores seemed ridiculously easier, but the children’s relaxation was great enough that despite tiredness their play became more energetic, and for the first time Kel could remember minor squabbles broke out. Picking apart two entangled six-year-olds, orphans from Goatstrack, Kel found herself helped by a strange corporal, an older man who must have had children of his own and effortlessly held one crying youngster while Kel held the other. Mindful of Neal’s words she let the tears flow, rocking the boy gently, and saw the corporal doing likewise. As sobs subsided he gave a smile.

            “How far’ve you come wiv ’em, me Lady?” His voice had the unmistakeable accent of the Corus slums.

            Kel added it up. “They were taken twelve days ago, and this’ll be the sixth night since we rescued them. We’ve come a bit over a hundred miles.”

            He gave her a respectful look. “Fair speed wiv such a passel o’ kids. It must ’ave been ’ard for you.”

            “Actually, they’ve been as good as gold, corporal. This is the first fussing we’ve had, even from the littles. It’s just that they’re relaxing, I think.”

            “Ah.” He set his burden down, and Kel did likewise, crouching to hug both children and gently admonish them to wash their hands and faces before eating. As they ran off, tears forgotten, he looked at her again, his eyes sad. “It was that bad, then?”

            She nodded. “It was, corporal. Not our journey, so much, but their capture and what came after. They’ve all seen things no-one should ever have to see.”

            “Ah. Well, they’re rescued now. I should get some wood.” He half-turned away, then swung back. “Beggin’ your pardon, me Lady, but what did the Scanrans want ’em for? From what the other lot said it weren’t just for slaves.”

            Kel hesitated but decided the soldier as much as the children deserved the truth, which was no secret anyway. “They were going to make more killing devices, corporal. One from each child murdered. And from what we saw and heard at Rathhausak, probably raped first by the mage doing the death-magic.”

            “No!” Eyes wide he spat, making the gods’-circle on his chest. “Black God take that mage.”

            “He already has.”

            “Ah, gods all bless you, me Lady.”

             “It was my pleasure, corporal.” She hesitated again, but hope and curiosity won. “Tell me, do you know if anything happened to the killing devices already in the field, about six days ago?”

            He nodded vigorously, eyes widening again. “They all stopped, me Lady, or so I ’eard back at Mastiff before I left. I ain’t seen them meself, but command was all runnin’ round squawkin’ on—let me see, now—the mornin’ o’ the eleventh, it bein’ the sixteenth today. An’ what the clerks said was, it was coz the killin’ devices ’ad stopped ’ere an’ at Frasrlund an’ the City o’ the Gods.” He stopped to let Kel complete her muttered prayer of thanks to Mithros, his eyes sharp with calculation. “It was you what stopped ’em, then, me Lady?”

            “That’s when we killed the mage, yes. I hoped it’d mean all the devices stopped, but who knows what’ll happen when mages are involved.”

            “You got that right, me Lady.” He made the sign against evil again. “Should I tell others, then? About the devices stoppin’, I mean. It’s no secret they did.”

            “Please do.”

            Kel went to tell Neal herself, who gave his own thanks as a healer, and hugged her quickly, as did Fanche and Saefas. Dom and his men, she discovered, had already learned the news and were elated, remembering the first device they’d fought together at Forgotten Well and feeling that Lofren’s and Fulcher’s deaths had helped achieve even more than the rescue of the children. Their joviality drew in Uinse and the convicts, who also cheered, having themselves faced the devices both victoriously and in the horror of Haven’s fall.

            With all in good heart as well as better rations and bigger portions than any of them had seen in days there was real warmth in the evening conversation, though to Kel’s mild irritation Wolset coaxed Irnai into repeating for the army men her prophecy of Kel’s arrival. There was  murmuring about the litany of names and unsubtle questions about Tobe as the ‘horse boy’ and Fanche as the ‘bitter mother’, as well as some very sidelong looks at the Protector of the Small. Neal, she thought glumly, was probably right that the Chamber’s ridiculous tag would stick, and her only comfort was that fuller bellies made for sooner and sounder sleep.

            They were later starting off the next morning, but not much, and the good trail with continuing fine weather allowed them to keep a faster pace. During the morning they crossed the Greenwoods River, passing the trail to Haven, and Kel found herself wondering with more urgency how Lord Wyldon would house the refugees. Haven itself was ruined beyond easy repair, and she thought the refugees would be as superstitious about rebuilding it as the soldiers were about rebuilding Giantkiller.

            By the time dusk drew down Kel reckoned they’d managed more than forty miles in the day, double their average in Scanra, but it was eighty from the Vassa crossing to Mastiff. Their last night on the road was made easier still when they were met by the promised cook-wagon and a squad of soldiers escorting three healers, to offer Neal relief with the children. The faster passage had made for uglier saddle-sores and she gave thanks for someone’s foresight—Lord Raoul’s, she’d bet, though to be fair she knew that despite Lord Wyldon’s manner as training-master he had his own soft spot for little ones.

            With a proper breakfast and wonderfully fresh bread available they started later still, and at the healers’ collective insistence kept the pace down, stopping frequently to allow children to switch places and animals. A further cook-wagon with a squad to guard it provided lunch and a longer break than usual, so it was early evening before Kel and Peachblossom led the long procession up the hillside into the great clearing that housed Mastiff. Coming from Haven she’d always ridden the courier-route over the hills, entering the open land from the north, and this western approach was unfamiliar—as were the scores of tents clustered around the fort, and the guards patrolling the treeline.

            The sergeant who saluted them where the trail entered the clearing gave a hand-signal, and Kel was barely past him when she heard the horn-call rising behind her into the dusk. The answer was prompt, and before its echoes died she could see people running towards them from the tents, and more emerging from the fort. By the time the whole column had entered the meadow they were surrounded by the rescued adults from Haven, full of tears and joy as they welcomed children who scrambled down from patient horses and ponies to hug and be hugged. Mindful of how many were orphans Kel dismounted herself, seeing Neal, Owen, and Dom do the same, and began lifting more children down from the bigger horses, hugging each hard before letting them run or stand blinking, and turning for the next. Tobe, summoning abandoned horses for corralling and fodder, had a broad smile on his face, and the expressions of parents and carers reunited with children they’d seen carried off by Stenmun and his men brought a lump to her throat. When groups began clustering round her, muttering gruff thanks and praises, she didn’t try to stop her tears. It wasn’t sobs that would have called out her Yamani mask, even now, just a silent overflow of relief and simple happiness at duty done.

            As the press eased she dried her face and led Peachblossom slowly towards the fort, Jump at her heels. Irnai skipped from among the Scanran refugees to grasp her hand, smiling. Kel smiled back, but her stomach hollowed as she realised why Irnai had sought her out, and her heart began to hammer as she caught sight of the three men standing outside the open gates of the fort, watching as the first children ran or were carried past them. Dom, carrying Meech and holding Gydo’s hand, was well ahead of her, and she saw Lord Raoul clap him on his free shoulder, asking something that drew a laugh and a bantering reply she couldn’t hear. Beside Raoul, the faces of Duke Baird and Lord Wyldon seemed blanker, though after a moment she saw Baird spot Neal in the group behind her and abruptly start towards him. Courteous as always he detoured to pass her and paused a moment, glancing curiously at Irnai.

            “Congratulations, Keladry. I didn’t think I’d ever see these children again.”

            His voice was warm but his attention was on Neal and she waved him on, heartened by his praise but steeling herself for what she knew must follow. The last yards before she reached her trainers and commanders seemed the longest of the whole journey. Finally she trudged to a halt before them both, let go of Irnai’s hand, and was trying to bend her aching legs to go to one knee when Raoul stepped forward and swept her into a crushing hug that bought a bolt of pain to her wounded shoulder.

            “Gods, Kel, don’t _ever_ scare me like that again.” Easing back as he heard her grunt of pain his eyes searched hers. “You’re hurt?”

            “Just my shoulder, my Lord. It’s still tender.”

            “Mmh. You’ve lost weight, too. Do you need a healer?”

            “Not immediately, my Lord.” Gently she disengaged from him, and turned to Lord Wyldon. His face was as emotionless as ever but his dark eyes were intent.

            “Well, Mindelan? Report.”

            She drew a deep breath. “I’m very sorry for my disobedience, my Lord. But before what must happen, I _do_ need to report, not only to you, but to my Lord of Goldenlake, General Vanget, and probably the King.”

            His eyes went cool. “Concerning?”

            “Blayce Younger the Gallan, my Lord, and how he was doing what he was at Castle Rathhausak.”

            He exchanged a surprised look with Lord Raoul.

            “Rathhausak? King Maggur’s clan-fief?”

            “Yes, sir.” She rested a hand lightly on Irnai’s shoulder, seeing the moment when both men caught sight of the seer’s intense green eyes. “This is Irnai, lately of Rathhausak, who can witness certain things and has a story of her own. She’s chosen of Shakith, I believe. And my Lord, the Scanran refugees with us are all that remains of Maggur’s own liegemen. Will you ensure they’re kept together, and safe? It worries me they might be targets, when he hears they’ve fled.”

            The look in Lord Wyldon’s eyes was unreadable, but after a moment and another glance at Raoul he nodded, and gave orders to a waiting sergeant to make arrangements. The man loped off and his gaze came back to her.

            “This report is urgent?”

            Kel nodded. “Yes, my Lord. Not in the sense that lives depend on it, but … well, politically. There are things you should all know before you decide what to say about the killing devices.”

            Both men frowned, before Lord Raoul replied.

            “You know they all collapsed? We assumed … yes, well, we had to say something, so we’ve put it about that a new mage has entered the war and disabled them. Should we not?”

            Kel gave her limited shrug. “I’m not sure, my Lord, but there’s a better story than that if you want it.”

            “Very well.” Lord Wyldon’s voice was brisk. “But in that case we should do it now, if you’re up to it, Lady Knight.” Turning, he sent a man to fetch Duke Baird and another to find someone whose name Kel didn’t catch. “Vanget retires early when he can. Come. Let one of the men take your horse.” He looked at Peachblossom. “And no nonsense out of you.”

            Peachblossom snorted, but let Kel reluctantly give his reins to a waiting soldier, patting his neck and wondering when—if—she’d see him again, or the sparrows perched on his mane and Jump trotting behind. Lord Wyldon had already turned and gone, and Lord Raoul had taken Irnai’s hand and followed, bending absurdly to speak to the girl. With a juddering breath and a last glance after Peachblossom, Kel forced herself to follow them through the great gates of the fort.


	2. Reporting

Chapter Two — Reporting

_18–19 June_

 

To Kel’s surprise Lord Wyldon didn’t lead them to his office but up narrow stairs to a meeting-room she’d never seen. Despite summer warmth a small, well-tended fire crackled in an oddly placed hearth with flanking baskets of kindling and trimmed logs; a polished sheet of metal hung on a nearby wall. There were also a table, pushed aside, a large-scale map of the district, studded with pins, and a semi-circle of chairs with cushions facing both hearth and metal sheet. Kel realised the King would be contacted through the fire; how the sheet of metal worked she had no idea, but presumed it must be a mage-link to General Vanget at Northwatch.

            Ahead of her Raoul gestured Irnai to a chair, and turned. “Hot juice, Kel? You look done in.”

            She nodded her thanks. “That sounds good, my Lord.”

            “I’ll get some. Sit, sit.”

            He swung back out, calling for someone, and Kel looked wearily round. A chair was tempting but besides being in armour and unlikely to do any furniture much good, she knew that once she surrendered to exhaustion she’d go out like a light. Instead she fell into the ‘at ease’ stance she’d learned with the Own. Lord Wyldon, seating himself, looked at her curiously.

            “You prefer to stand, Mindelan?”

            “Once I’m down I’ll be out, my Lord. Standing’s safer.”

            “As you will.” He peered. “Are you sure you don’t need a healer?”

            “It’s not necessary, my Lord. And would certainly send me to sleep. Healing always does.”

            He grunted acknowledgement, fingers drumming on his thigh, and seemed about to speak when Raoul returned carrying a tray with a steaming pitcher and sturdy clay mugs. Behind him came Duke Baird and Harailt of Aili; Kel had always liked the powerful university mage, and nodded gratefully at his congratulations on recovering the refugees.

            Raoul poured juice, introducing Irnai to Duke Baird and Harailt as he gave her a cup and passed one to Kel. She cupped her hands around the warmth and sipped, savouring the tartness and spice-flavours.

            “Will you not sit, Kel?”

            “I’d rather stand, my Lord.”

            “I did ask her, Goldenlake. Now, Harailt, Baird?”

            Both nodded. Baird went to the metal sheet, summoning a handful of green magic to send flowing across the surface. Beside him Harailt knelt before the fire, murmuring words that made it blaze up with flames the deep red of his Gift.

            Vanget responded first, Baird’s magic clearing with a soft chime to reveal the haMinchi army commander leaning back with a frown against an enormous desk heaped with papers.

            “What’s up, Wyldon?” Kel had only once heard him speak before, though she’d seen him several times at a distance. His voice was deep but crisp, with a northern burr, fitting his weathered face and close-cropped hair. “Oh, she’s back, I see.” Kel met shrewd brown eyes. “I’ve been hearing remarkable things about you, Lady Knight.” His gaze went back to Wyldon. “This is her report?”

            “It is, Vanget. You’re here at her request and we’re waiting on His Majesty. Oh, and this is Irnai of Rathhausak, here with Mindelan.”

            Vanget frowned. “Rathhausak? Maggur’s clanseat on the Pakkai? Is that—”

            He was interrupted by Harailt’s deliberately loud “Your Majesty”, and Kel hastily gulped juice and set her mug on the table. As the mage rose from the fire and sat, a line of his Gift still connected to the flames, she could see that within them a window had opened to show King Jonathan of Conté. This manner of mage-talking had always unnerved Kel, though its usefulness was undeniable, but she braced herself with her familiar indifference to the King’s striking good looks. Beneath handsome features his face was drawn, and he seemed far more tired than when she’d last seen him, six months before at the Palace. He was looking at Harailt, but as the fire bloomed with the deep blue of his Gift, mixing with Harailt’s red, the window enlarged and his eyes swiftly scanned the room before resting on Kel.

            “Ah. General Vanget, my Lords. You’re back then, Lady Knight. With the kidnapped children?”

            “Yes, your Majesty.”

            He smiled satisfaction. “Good, very good. You have my thanks, and Thayet’s.” Kel flushed and those piercing blue eyes studied her for a moment, before flicking to Irnai. “This girl is with you?”

            “Yes, sire. May I present Irnai of Rathhausak.” As General Vanget had, King Jonathan frowned. “She is witness to a thing I must report that you … well, you won’t want to believe it, sire.

            His face hardened. “That doesn’t sound good, Lady Knight. But we’d best get to it. What have you to say?”

            Kel swallowed and began the pitch she’d been rehearsing in her mind for days. “Sire, my Lords, I have a full written report of my actions, and the casualty roll.” She took battered scrolls from her left vambrace and gave them to Wyldon, whose eyebrows rose. “But what matters is, first and most, that Blayce Younger the Gallan is dead and his papers and workshop put to the torch.”

            Vanget interrupted, meaty hands smacking together. “Thank Mithros for that. Numair said he must be dead when the killing devices collapsed, but I’m delighted to have confirmation. And his workshop destroyed! Good work. What of the man Stenmun working with him, that Scanrans call the Kinslayer?”

            “Dead also, my Lord.”

            “Better and better. He’s been a nasty name on this border for twenty years and more. Who killed him?”

            Kel blinked. She didn’t know any more quite what she’d envisioned but it hadn’t been this affably blunt warrior curiosity. “I did, sir. I had to go through him to get to Blayce.”

            “Good for you. On both counts.”

            “Thank you, sir.” She forced herself back on track, trying not to let too much hope rise at his cheerful demeanour, and shifted her gaze back to the King. “The second thing, sire, is _how_ Blayce was doing what he did.” She hesitated. “I think you know that when the devices were killed by cracking their head domes, the voices were those of children?” Jonathan grimaced, nodding. “Well, I can confirm he murdered a child to make each one.”

            Kel saw both mages make the sign against evil and Raoul’s fists clench.

            “Haven’s children were the real target of Stenmun’s raid. The adults who resisted were hanged, and the rest sold to slavers on the Smiskir road. But the children were kept alive, no matter what they did, and taken on to Castle Rathhausak, where Blayce waited for them.” She allowed herself a moment’s pause. “Sire, no language I know has words for what he did. The villagers of Rathhausak speak of him as a _nicor_ , a child-eating monster.” To Kel, Blayce would always be the Nothing Man, a mousy, pimpled contradiction to the hideous scale of his magical crimes, but the old Scanran legend fitted her need. “Though I’ve never heard of a child-eater that played dressing-up games with its victims or raped them before it ate.” She saw the King blanch. “And the reason Stenmun needed _our_ children, sire, is that he’d already taken all of their own. Irnai here was the _only_ Scanran child alive in Rathhausak.”

            In the horrified silence Irnai slipped from her chair to stand calmly beside Kel looking at the semicircle of men. Neither flame nor mirror seemed to interest her and her voice had no tremor.

            “And for two score miles around. Stenmun took them all. First the pretty boys and girls, that the Gallan wanted most, then more and more, until few of any age were left. This spring he took even the slow ones, and the lame. Then there was only me.”

            The King spoke first. “Forgive me, Irnai, but how did _you_ escape him, then?”

            “The god warned me, and when they came I hid where they would not be.”

            Master Harailt’s voice was gentle. “Do you know which god?”

            “The blind one who sees the future. She shows it to me sometimes.”

            “You mean Shakith?”

            Irnai shrugged. “She has many names and many forms. She showed me where I should hide and where I should go, and she told me that when the Protector of the Small came, with her knowing animals, and the healer and the horse boy, the armed men and the marked men, the trapper and the bitter mother, then the Gallan would fall.” From the looks on the men’s faces Kel knew Irnai had given that smile that was far too old for any child. “She was right.”

            The King’s eyes found Kel. “Can you explain, Lady Knight?”

            “The names fit the people who were with me, sire.”

            His eyebrows rose. “They do?”

            “The healer would be Sir Neal, sire, and I have a boy with horse magic. The marked men are the convict soldiers, and the others are two leaders among the Haven refugees, Fanche Miller and Saefas Ploughman.  Both refused to return with the adults and came on to Rathhausak.”

            “So the ‘knowing animals’ were that dog of yours and the sparrows? And you are the Protector of the Small, eh?” He gave a slight smile, at the name or her omission of it from her explanation. “It suits you.”

            Kel felt herself flush. ‘It’s just a silly name, sire. What matters is that King Maggur gave his own liege-children over to be killed.” She couldn’t stop contempt lacing her voice. “And his neighbouring clans’ children. And I don’t believe most of his soldiers know that.”

            Irnai’s voice was emotionless. “News passes slowly in Scanra even in peace. And Rathhausak was shut up for years. Before the Kinslayer came for us we heard nothing but rumours of slaving.”

            Jonathan’s eyes came back to Kel, widening. “You are suggesting we let them know?”

            “I am, sire. It can only cause King Maggur trouble. And in the tents here there are now all forty-three adult survivors of Rathhausak, as well as Irnai, to bear witness to his slaughters.” Kel hesitated and swallowed, knowing what she was about to say could be taken in many ways. “Your enemy’s betrayed liege-families, sire, whom you delivered from his doom, and now ask for your shelter.” She swallowed again. “You also burned down his castle, cleansing an evil even the gods abominate. I believe Sir Myles might do something with such a truth to save Tortallan lives. It also represents a _blódbeallár_ challenge in Scanran bloodlaw.”

            Not wanting to stare at Jonathan she looked aside and saw Raoul’s face waver into a grin. “You said you had a better story than the one we’d made up, Kel, and you don’t disappoint.”

            For the first time Lord Wyldon sat forward. “How much did you burn at Rathhausak?”

            “Keep, hall, and stables, my Lord. Blayce’s workroom was in the keep. Sparks lit the hall roof, and we fired the stables for good measure after we’d emptied them. We had nothing to blast with, so the walls and gatehouse stand, but it’ll take some fixing.”

            “And the dead?”

            “We burned our own in the courtyard. For the rest, well, we left the stormwings beginning their feast.”

            “Mmmh.” He sat back, eyes hooded. “Very well. Is there anything else, Lady Knight.”

            Kel counted in her mind, tiredness pulling at her concentration more and more heavily. “Not really, my Lord. Blayce, his methods, and the chance to hurt Maggur with the truth. The safety of the villagers, after surviving so much. Oh, and coming back we didn’t meet a single Scanran soldier between Rathhausak and the Vassa, but I don’t suppose that matters now.”

            Irnai tugged at her sleeve and she looked down at the girl. Green eyes glowed back at her, something swirling behind them.

            “You promised the sergeant you’d tell.”

            Kel cursed silently, glowering, but it was foolish to wonder how Irnai knew things, and whether it had been Dom or some quite other being who told her made no difference now. She rested her hand on Irnai’s shoulder. “I know I did.”

            “Tell us what, Kel?” Raoul’s look was concerned.

            Defeated, Kel looked back at him, then at the curious mages, an intent General Vanget, and finally the King. She didn’t dare meet Lord Wyldon’s eyes. “Another thing I don’t think you’ll want to believe, sire, and that I do not willingly speak of.” She stopped to draw a deep breath and heard Irnai sigh, then speak herself.

            “Your Chamber chose her and spoke through me. The god was its path.”

            “My _Chamber_?” King Jonathan’s brows drew down as he looked at Irnai and then Kel. “The Chamber of the Ordeal?”

            Kel nodded reluctantly. “Yes, sire. So I believe. _After_ my ordeal, at Midwinter, while I was still inside, it showed me a vision of Blayce. Later I spoke to it again, and it showed me the same thing.”

            “Wait.” His voice was incredulous. “You entered the Chamber a second time?”

            “Yes, sire.” She turned to Lord Raoul. “Do you remember, my Lord, I tried to ask your advice, but I didn’t know then I was allowed to speak of the vision.”

            He nodded slowly. “Yes, I do remember. I told you no-one ever went in a second time.” He glanced at Lord Wyldon, whose face was stone. “So you went straight there, I suppose.”

            “No, my Lord, but I had to, in the end. It showed me the vision of Blayce again and told me I could speak of it if I thought anyone would believe me.” She shrugged faintly. “I didn’t. And afterwards, it sent the vision again and again, in dreams.” Her voice dropped. “So many times, always the same.” Forcing herself away from the jagged emotions the memories still raised, even knowing Blayce was dead, she met the King’s stare. “Then in Rathhausak I heard its voice from Irnai’s lips. And in the castle, after I’d killed Blayce, its face appeared in the wall.” She saw raw disbelief in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, sire. I would never claim this in public. And I know how it must seem. But Sergeant Domitan heard Irnai too and he thought you ought to know. So did Sir Neal, who also believed you should inform Lord Padraig as training master.”

            The King’s frown deepened into a scowl and his gaze swung around the room, gauging reactions before returning to her.

            “It is not easy to believe, Lady Knight.” His voice was hard. “I have never heard of the Chamber operating at a distance.”

            “There was never a need before, Jonathan of Conté.”

            Kel started at the familiar thin, whispering voice that came from Irnai’s mouth but her reaction was nothing to that of the men, who uniformly went white. Even Lord Wyldon paled; every man there except Master Harailt was a knight by ordeal, whatever their inherited titles, and the Chamber’s was not a voice anyone ever forgot.

            “This time there was. The Protector of the Small spoke true. The gods hate death magic. I acted with Shakith and Gainel to end it, and I speak here with their aid.”

            Kel could feel her cheeks burning and hear the breaths drawn by all. General Vanget was no longer leaning against his desk but bolt upright, and tension sang in every face.

            “I showed her this.”

            Eyes closed, Irnai raised her hands and light flowed from them, building another window that from their intent stares everyone could see. In it Kel’s nightmare appeared yet again, workshop, devices and all, and she looked at the floor, willing herself to Yamani blankness as the Nothing Man once more added another small, broken body to the pile already there. Risking a glance around she saw every face now flushed and openly shocked, mouths twisting in horror.

            “And she did _this_.”

            The thin whisper sounded satisfied, as it had at Rathhausak, and this time Kel did watch in horrified fascination as the scene changed to the keep at Rathhausak and she once more tripped Stenmun and smashed the butt of her glaive between his eyes before cutting his throat. She found she was willing herself to find the severed griffin-feather headband sooner, to take Blayce as soon as she saw him in his workroom, not to be fooled by his hypnotising magic—but everything played out just as she remembered, save that she didn’t recognise her own voice and Blayce remained visible to all but her image-self as he scrambled away from her and up onto a table. She had forgotten the necromancer’s sneering arguments as he tried to save himself, boasting of his power and offering to make killing devices for Jonathan instead of Maggur, and she felt fierce satisfaction as her glaive at last caught him behind the knees to bring him down, then neatly beheaded him. But watching herself sway with effort she remembered with complete clarity what she’d said to his corpse and watched her mouth begin to open with an appalled sense of the floor again moving beneath her feet.

            “ _You’re wrong about my king, I think, but better that he not have the chance to be tempted by the likes of you. And frankly? What you just got was far more merciful than you deserved._ ”

            As her image-self turned away, leaning on her glaive, the doors of the Chamber appeared as they had then, from the inside, its yellow-eyed face sculpted into the keystone. Then the picture froze, and after a second the light disappeared as Irnai’s hands fell to her sides. But the Chamber still possessed the girl, and Kel _knew_ in her fear and mortification it was again amused at her expense.

            “Remember it, Jonathan of Conté. I do not judge or choose amiss. Nor do the gods.” Abruptly the Chamber’s tone modulated into what Kel thought of as its grumpy voice. “Shakith wants her chosen back.”

            Even as it spoke Irnai’s body went rigid, eyes opening wide and white, her hair crackling and standing away from her head. The voice that broke from her was high and shrill, a hawk’s call in the distance.

            “ _When the stormwings play again above the Greenwoods, the war will end._ ”

            Irnai sagged as her knees buckled and would have fallen if Kel hadn’t stretched to catch her, clamping her mouth against sharp pain as the sudden movement tore at her wounded shoulder. Holding Irnai she felt blood trickling onto her breast but Duke Baird was with her, easing the small body to the floor and letting his magic play over Irnai’s face and torso for a long minute.

            “She’s alright, I think.” His voice was rougher than usual, edged with unease. “Knocked out by the divine passing through her, I suppose. Numair has more experience of this sort of thing.” He snagged a cushion to slip under Irnai’s head, stroking her wild hair a little flatter. “Her fugue will pass into true sleep, I expect, but I’ve no idea when.” He reached for her wrist, then laid a hand on her arm. “She’s freezing. Wyldon, is there—”

            “I’ll get a blanket.”

            He rose and left swiftly, and Kel heard breaths let raggedly out around the room before the King spoke.

            “Gods! Literally.” His expression was unfathomably complex and his voice very flat. “I loathe prophecies. Any guesses as to what exactly that one meant?”

            Kel’s eyes met General Vanget’s, dark in his pale and sweating face, and he nodded her to speak. Her voice sounded harsh but at least it seemed her own, unlike the voice she’d heard from her image-self. “Haven is in the Greenwoods valley, sire. And after Stenmun’s raid its dead were defiled by stormwings.” She had to swallow her rage. “One of them apologised to me for it, afterwards, in a stormwing way.” She ignored the startled looks and Lord Wyldon’s return with a blanket that he knelt to tuck gently around Irnai, though she felt an urge to thank him. “So what it meant, sire, is that whoever next commands in that valley should expect the war’s last battle to be fought there.”

            Seating himself again, Lord Wyldon nodded sharply. “I would agree, sire, though I note that the girl—or the god—did not say with whom or what the stormwings might play. Will you ask Master Numair?”

            “I will. Not that I’ll get sensible answers. Which I now require.” The King’s gaze pinned Kel. “Lady Knight, I do not believe I have been so astonished by anyone since I first met Daine. And she proved Godborn. Plainly, please, when you went after Blayce, were you compelled?”

            Kel shook her head, feeling tiredness seep back into her limbs as the shock of hearing the prophecy wore off. “No. sire, not magically. My actions were my own to choose and I went after my people, not after Blayce. But I knew in my heart he would be waiting for them, and the children were foremost in my mind.” She hesitated, trying to search her conscience. “I think knowing I obeyed the Chamber helped me ignore my doubts and fears.” She swallowed, hard. “And my regrets.”

            “I imagine it might.” His voice was very dry. “So, Lady Knight. The gods gave you no Gift but watch you as they watch their chosen. And I find myself deeply in your debt.”

            Kel stared, confusion crowding her mind. Her shoulder hurt horribly. “I don’t understand, sire.”

            “Do you not, Lady Knight? Is there nothing you would ask of me?”

            He must mean her treason, and some part of her mind tried to sharpen. “Oh. That.” The King frowned and she made a huge effort to marshal her thoughts. “I would ask your pardon for those who followed me, sire. Especially Owen.” His frown dissolved into puzzlement and Kel hurried on. “Jesslaw, sire. And I would beg your care of the villagers from Rathhausak, and your defence of Mindelan if King Maggur learns of my part in what happened.” Was there anything else? Should she ask about the convicts who had borne so much, so valiantly?

            The King’s voice was still bone dry. “All this for others, Lady Knight? And nothing for yourself?”

            Gathering her last strength Kel straightened, ignoring her shoulder. “I cannot honourably ask pardon for myself, sire, for were my choice to make over I would do the same thing again.” She felt herself sway and forced more effort into her legs.

            “Wait. What has pardon …” His face became incredulous as he worked it out. “You give _this_ report and stand there believing I would have you charged with treason? Are you mad?”

            Kel felt indignation blossom. “Not in the least, Your Majesty. But after nine years of it, I know full well what the political consequences of my disobedience must be.”

            King Jonathan’s face froze. “The political … You think I’d throw you to Stone Mountain for _this?_ That”—his voice again took on that controlled flatness—“that I’d have you executed to shut _him_ up? You cannot …” His voice trailed off and Kel heard herself speak.

            “I know what reality has taught me, sire.” She felt herself sway again. “But I thought you’d leave it as an army matter.”

            “You think I want you dead?” Lord Wyldon’s voice held a note she’d never heard and her head snapped round to face his pain.

            “What does _want_ have to do with anything, my Lord? It’s your _duty_ to maintain discipline, as it proved mine to break it. I regret _nothing_ but my dead.”

            “Gods. Mindelan.”

            Kel didn’t know how long the silence lasted until she heard Duke Baird’s voice in the distance.

            “Keladry, you’re bleeding! Wyldon, can you get her—“

            She felt hands unbuckling her armour, the halves of her cuirass lifted away, and her filthy gambeson unbuttoned and slipped down her arms as she was pushed into a chair. Someone hissed, and she heard Baird’s voice again, coolly professional.

            “I’ll have to cut off the shirt. It’s beyond saving anyway.”

            Cool metal slid against her skin, air brushed against her, and the wound above her breast shrieked as  more scabs were lifted away with her shirt. Then a blessed coolth and ease surged into her, her blurred vision sparkling with green before clearing to show her a strip of floor with a blood-soaked swatch of material. Faintly she heard a voice she thought was the King’s, _awake? … things … saying_ , before she felt her hands grasped and another voice drove into her fogged mind, as once through sheer terror.

            “Mindelan! Listen to me. Listen. You’ve lost a lot of blood. What gave this wound?”

            “Axe-head,” she heard herself mutter in compelled response. “Stenmun.”

            Duke Baird’s voice sounded cross and her indignation flared again. “Nealan should have done better.”

            She spoke as loudly as she could. “He was exhausted, your Grace.”

            “He should know how to triage by now.”

            With a huge effort she pulled her good hand free and reached up to grasp Baird’s wrist. “He does. He did. Three at least live who wouldn’t otherwise. Including me.” Her hand dropped back into her lap, where it was again held.

            Baird’s voice was gentler. “I understand, Keladry. Yet much was left undone, and for long.” A hand cupped her neck and green fire cleared her head. “Say what you must with all speed, Wyldon.”

            The driving voice came again, _Mindelan!_ , and she blinked mute protest. “I hear you, my Lord.”

            “Good.” His voice became as dry as the King’s had been, and he sat back slightly on his heels though keeping his grip on her hands. “Your military analysis was flawed, Mindelan. My duty to discipline must be balanced with my duties to those I command, to the future of the realm, and to morale. You will face no charge, nor any who accompanied you. Now heed the King.”

            Obediently her gaze tracked across to the face leaning forward from the fire.

            “Your political analysis was flawed for the same reason, Lady Knight. You must learn to value yourself as we have learned, not least tonight.” Blue eyes seemed to grow even bluer. “Once you are healed, we must talk again. But now I will make you a _political_ deal I believe you will accept.”

            Kel watched with a sense of faint puzzlement as he drew a deep breath and seemed to brace himself.

            “Keladry of Mindelan, nine years ago Lord Wyldon and I did you a grave disservice. You know it, he knows it, and I know it. When we imposed that probationary year, we bent justice against you. So now we bend it in your favour and judge the great services you—and all who helped you—have done us, and the realm, without noticing the disobedience from which they grew. Are we agreed?”

            Kel thought about it. Somewhere in her mind a sardonic voice she didn’t like was saying that Jonathan of Conté, as usual, had got himself a good deal, paying down his own expediency with someone else’s sacrifice, but the louder voice sang pure relief, for Owen and her family, Yuki and Shinko who might have been tainted by her treason, and underneath it all for herself. The girl who could, and did, and had. She _would_ see Peachblossom again, and Jump and Nari. Head slightly wobbly, she nodded.

            “I can live with that, sire.”

            She tried to smile at him, to convey her happiness and relief, and blackness tinged with green swirled up to claim her.

 

* * * * *

 

As Kel was carried out, shoulder tightly bandaged with Baird hovering beside her and a blanket-wrapped Irnai, Raoul dropped onto a chair and let out a long breath.

            “Gods! I know how to pick ’em, don’t I?” His eyes met Jonathan’s and he shook his head ruefully. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise she was talking to the Chamber, Jon. She _did_ ask about it, but, well, who’d have thought—”

            “No blame to you, Raoul. Wild horses wouldn’t get _me_ inside it again.”

            “Nor me.” Vanget’s expression mixed admiration and incredulity. “ _Two_ ordeals? What’s she made of? Yamani steel?” He barked a laugh. “You must admit, Wyldon, the joke’s on us this time.”

            Wyldon’s face was drawn but his eyes sparked as he nodded. “Yes. I’ve never known a finer knight, nor one so blind to her own worth. And that is the mark of my failing.”

            “And of mine.” Jonathan’s voice was clear and hard. “Nor are we alone. A lot of people are going to look rather silly when this news breaks. And Mithros knows Alanna will be impossible. But our consciences must wait. General Vanget, do you agree we should use this tale? And get Sir Myles to spread it inside Scanra?”

            “Yes, sire, I do. With the devices dead Maggur must be having problems already, and the horror of this will hit his men and his authority hard. As it should.”

            “Mmmm. Then I think we must have our Lady Knight leading.” He sighed. “It couldn’t well be concealed anyway, and truth is usually best. But with apologies, Lord Wyldon, I think we have to say she went at your and my command.”

            Wyldon nodded. “Agreed, sire.” He gave a faint shrug. “It cuts through the muddle.”

            “And will head off Stone Mountain or anyone else who hears some rumour and wants to make trouble for her.” Jonathan’s voice was shrewd. “To be fair to her fears, he probably _would_ try it if he thought of it. He’s still half-deranged by his son’s death. Which brings us to the Chamber. What should we do about that, my Lords?”

            “There’s nothing we can do, sire, or that we should.” Wyldon’s voice was unyielding and there were sharp nods all round. “It does as it will, always. As do the gods. It was I who misjudged Joren and Keladry as pages, not the Chamber.” He frowned. “Much as I hate to agree with him, Sir Nealan’s right you should tell Lord Padraig about all this, not that there’s much he can do. Though I suppose knight masters could ask those emerging from their Ordeals if they have been given any … quest is the word, I think. But Mindelan’s right that _this_ part of events should not be publicised.” He glanced at Vanget and Harailt, then looked at Raoul. “I’m not endorsing them, Goldenlake, but conservatives would find it hard to swallow the Lady Knight as the Chamber’s chosen.”

            Raoul’s smile was mirthless. “So would progressives, Cavall. So do I, come to that. And Kel would hate it—you heard her.” His face tightened. “But while Mithros knows I’ll be delighted to see her given her due otherwise, I think she’s right about the risk of Maggur’s revenge. If his control _is_ slipping he’ll be desperate to regain it, and if we put the story about he’ll know exactly who to blame for killing his pet mage and burning his castle.” His fist banged softly on the chair leg. “We know he’ll hurt whoever’s in his reach, and then there’s the _blódbeallár_ thing—home fief for home fief. Pull two navy ships off piracy patrol and get them to Mindelan, Jon? If half-a-dozen wolf-ships came in there out of an autumn fog …” The King winced, nodding, and Raoul’s gaze went back to Wyldon. “What are you going to do with Kel, Cavall?”

            “Give her back to her refugees, I should think. There’d probably be a riot otherwise. You saw how they greeted her.” Wyldon rubbed his forehead. “They’ll have to go back to the Greenwoods valley, prophecy or no. With the south closed there’s nowhere else to put them. So someone has to be in charge there, and she’s still by far the best option I have.”

            “Fair enough. But that prophecy needs thinking on. If we _know_ there’s to be another battle there …”

            “And where do we get the men, Goldenlake? I can find a few extra squads, but more would leave Mastiff vulnerable, and you know it.”

            “We _can_ build properly, though.” Vanget’s voice was crisp. “I’ve not seen that valley for years, but if Harailt and Numair can lift enough ground we ought to be able to give the camp a proper wall and gates. Extra men won’t mean much if they end up facing an attack in force with a single half-height palisade and no earthworks or abatis. When you’ve a site sorted I can send the eastern building team along as well. They can help out at Giantkiller too, once they’re done.”

            Harailt, Raoul, and Wyldon were nodding and Jonathan gave a crooked grin. “Good. Something else settled. I’ll let Numair know he’ll be needed.”

            “Daine too, if she’s available, Jon. Those ‘knowing animals’ weren’t just Kel’s dog and birdies, but a whole pack of dogs and cats Daine magicked a few months back.”

            “She did?”

            “She did. Masbolle told me she thought they needed all the help they could get.”

            “Very well. With Blayce found and killed she should have a bit less on her spying plate. Not that that means much, gods know, with all we ask of her. Now, my Lords, anything else tonight? Raoul?”

            “One thing, maybe, Jon. Those convict soldiers—might you order their magemarks cancelled? All else aside, it should help us recruit more of the condemned in the mines, and Kel’s shown a real knack for getting the best out of them. Same way she’s so good with the commoners and rank-and-file.”

            “Well enough. I’ll try Turomot. They certainly deserve something.”

            “I can send you their names.” Wyldon uncharacteristically hesitated. “Do you propose other rewards, sire?”

            “Eventually, certainly.” Jonathan frowned. “You think we should do something sooner?”

            “Maybe. It would go with their story.”

            “Mmm. What, though? A purse and a promise?”

            “I was thinking of some smaller, less usual purses. Those under arms were doing their duty, but the civilians—Mistress  Fanche and her Saefas, perhaps. Even young Tobe, from the number of beasts they bought back.”

            “Who?”

            “Mindelan’s boy with horse magic. The one who brought us word of the attack on Haven.”

            “Oh, yes. Alright.”

            “But for Mindelan herself … I don’t know.”

            “Then it must wait. Or you’ve a suggestion, Raoul?”

            “Not for Kel. But I wondered, while they’re rebuilding, if Roald might visit. And if it’s quiet enough, the Princess too. Kel’s close to both of them, and if the villagers from Rathhausak are there as well …”

            Jonathan’s face was very still. “Vanget?”

            “Fine by me, sire, _if_ it’s quiet. And actually, it might help the Prince. You know he goes half-crazy cooped up here.”

            “Alright. I like it and I’ll talk to Thayet. Anything more? Then I must find Sir Myles, my Lords, and for once surprise _him_. Goodnight, and gods all bless.”

            As the King’s blue magic faded and Harailt let his own line to the flames drop, the blaze in the hearth vanished to show only ash and embers. Vanget grunted.

            “Never did understand how those fire-links go on working when they’ve no fuel left. These spellmirrors are much better, never mind that the mages needn’t stay. No offence, Harailt.”

            “None taken.” Harailt’s scholarly face was drawn. “What an astonishing evening. I don’t like how direct the gods are being, at all. For months even good seers have been saying everything’s splintered, and now _this_. Numair tells me Daine’s parents say we’re at some kind of crossroads in time, with even the gods waiting to see what happens. But something’s changed, obviously, with Blayce’s death.”

            “And the Kinslayer’s, maybe.” Vanget sounded thoughtful. “As best we can guess he was one of Maggur’s long-time hatchet-men. Before we had reports of him as Blayce’s keeper Myles reckoned he was in charge of Maggur’s hostages—so his loss may be a bigger blow for the Maggot than we know.”

            “Your mouth to Mithros’s ear.” Raoul hunched, cracking his knuckles. “I should go see Masbolle and his men. He said they lost two at Rathhausak and they’re a tight-knit bunch.”

            Vanget grunted. “What _was_ the butcher’s bill, Wyldon? I’ll want copies of those reports she gave you as soon as you can, but I confess I’m curious.”

            “I haven’t looked.” Wyldon retrieved the crumpled scrolls Kel had given him, flattening them on his lap. “More credit to her. A full and legible report, written on the move. I _still_ don’t have one from Hollyrose.” He shuffled papers. “This must be the … Mithros!”

            “What?” Raoul and Vanget spoke in unison.

            Wyldon didn’t look up but slowly reflattened the papers and began to read.

            “The Tortallan dead, excluding those found and buried at Haven. Before the Vassa. Hildurra Ward, clerk of Haven, bled out. Kelton of Hannaford, logger, hanged, and his wife Lerna, bled out in childbed; also her unborn.

            “At Vassa Bluffs, all found hanged. Senner and Anta Forgeman of Hannaford, smiths. Vordern of Tirrsmont, farrier. Broder Reed, convict soldier. Einur Peterson, army cook.

            “At Rathhausak, in battle. Gilead Lofts, Morun Locksman, Petter Miller, Cladir Sweep, Garto Freeman, and Jorvik Rider, convict soldiers of Haven. Corporal of the Own Jerol Fulcher and Ownsman Ardis Lofren, Third Company, on detached service. Windtreader, known as Happy, warhorse. Shepherd, a boarhound, and three nameless dogs of Haven.

            “In all, thirteen men, three women, one unborn, and the animals.”

            Vanget harrumphed. “Good detail. Good attitude, too. And lower numbers than I’d expected, Wyldon. You too surely?”

            “It wasn’t our casualties that made me exclaim, Vanget. It was the enemy’s.” Wyldon’s voice cracked slightly as he continued reading. “The Scanran dead. Between the Vassa and the Smiskir. Twenty-five soldiers, twenty-three adults and two youths. Ten soldiers, all adults.

            “At Pakkai Junction. Ninety-seven soldiers, eighty-one adults and sixteen youths. One-hundred-and-eleven armed slavers, ninety-nine adult men, seven youths, and five adult women.

            “In the Pakkai valley. Eighteen soldiers, all adult. Three killing devices.

            “At Castle Rathhausak. One-hundred-and-forty-six soldiers, all adult. Stenmun Kinslayer. Blayce Younger the Gallan.

            “In all, four-hundred-and-four, including twenty-five youths, five women, and three children already dead.”

            He looked up, shock plain on his face. “They killed more than twenty for one and lost less than one in three.”

            Vanget had been scribbling numbers as Wyldon read them and looked up, face grim. “Discounting our civilians but not the slavers, the ratio of dead is one to forty-four and some. Gods! Do you believe it?”

            “Kel doesn’t lie, Vanget.” Raoul’s voice was certain despite his own shock. “You heard her. And it makes sense, sort of—apart from the slavers, where Hollyrose said she somehow got the adult refugees free before she attacked, and the fight at Rathhausak, it sounds like whittling ’em down. She knows my line about changing the odds if you don’t like ’em. So, four defeats in detail. And from what Masbolle told me, Rathhausak was a successful night assault from within and without that achieved complete surprise. The fighting odds there were … what, five-to-one? I bet all but a score of those Scanrans died without their armour on.”

            “Gods is still right, though, Raoul.” Harailt reached to pour himself some long-cold juice. “I’m sure Keladry speaks nothing but the truth and equally sure the gods watched her fight. Even as we did.”

            “Maybe. But for all we were watching by magic, Harailt, there was no sign of anything but guts and skill in what we saw.”

            “I don’t deny it, but even so.” A sly look came into the mage’s eyes. “By the way, my Lords, what did you make of Keladry’s words to Blayce’s corpse about the King? I almost thought from her expression that she felt the Chamber was teasing her when it showed us that.”

            Raoul grinned. “I didn’t see Kel’s face but the look on Jon’s was priceless. And she was right on both counts. He wouldn’t countenance necromancy for a second and it’s far better he never be tempted.” His grin faded. “As we all learned from Thom of Trebond necromancy has a way of tempting men.”

            “Mithros!” Wyldon snapped his fingers and the others looked at him in surprise. “Do you not see the pattern? You were there, weren’t you, Goldenlake, when the Lioness killed Duke Roger?”

            “Both times, Cavall, as you well know. What of it? And what pattern?”

            “A Lady Knight kills a necromancer? Against all odds, twice over, in successive generations?”

            Raoul sat back, surprise on his face as on Vanget’s and Harailt’s. “Good point.” They all considered it. “No earthquake this time, though, thank Mithros and the Goddess.”

            Harailt nodded. “The latter, I think. Children are in her care and of all the Great Gods she and the Black God have always been said to loathe necromancy the most. It’s an offence against the natural orders of birth _and_ death. I’ll mention your thought to Numair, Wyldon, if I may. It’s a very interesting coincidence.”

            “As you will, Harailt, but it’s no coincidence.” His voice slowed in thought. “Though perhaps while the gods acted _through_ the Lioness, they have blessed us _with_ Mindelan.” He paused, seeming embarrassed at what he’d said, and went on briskly “Be that as it may, my Lords, I’ve had enough theology for one night. And we should all be doing.”

            The meeting broke up, Vanget wishing them well and repeating his requests for copies of Kel’s and any other reports before disappearing from the spellmirror, while Harailt wandered out, muttering something about Numair. Wyldon followed but turned in the door to look back at Raoul, still slumped in his chair.

            “Come with me to see the refugees before you see Masbolle, Goldenlake? I’d be grateful for your sense of these Scanrans, and I imagine you’d like to hear what they have to say about their rescuers.”

            Sighing, Raoul heaved himself upright, feeling a greater liking for the former training master than he had for a while.

            “Of course.”

           

 * * * * *

 

Kel woke slowly, realising it was the kind of waking that followed deep healing. When she tried to open her eyes her blurry vision was full of tiny sparks, so she left them closed and considered. Her mouth felt foul and her limbs heavy, but warm and relaxed, and the pain in her shoulder was a fraction of what it had been. It felt bandaged but she didn’t seem to be wearing much else, and presumed she must be in an infirmary until the thought brought a rush of memory.

            Foremost was the profound relief of realising that the children and all their rescuers were at last safe from Scanrans and Tortallans alike, but hard on its heels came realisation that she had collapsed and been stripped to her breastband in front of her entire chain of command. Mortification jerked her eyes open and she simultaneously felt a weight stir by her leg, saw an out-of-focus sparrow peering down at her from the headboard, and heard a familiar voice.

            “You’re awake. Hold still a minute.”

            Neal felt her pulse and forehead, then nodded and helped her sit up a little, plumping a pillow behind her head before hurrying out. Jump looked on approvingly, tail thumping, and Nari hopped down to her uninjured shoulder, peeping softly as Neal returned, supporting her head to present her with one of his vile teas. How something so foul-tasting could cleanse her mouth Kel had no idea, and her reward for choking it down was both to feel her head clear and to have the tea replaced with a tall glass of a fruit twilsey she was trusted to hold for herself.

            “Drink up. You need fluid.” Neal shifted his chair and sat again, looking at her. His face had the pained expression she knew meant he was exasperated, blended with something she couldn’t identify. Lowering the glass to her chest, which had the benefit of holding the sheet in place to preserve her modesty, she looked at him affectionately.

            “What time is it?”

            “Late morning. You’ve been out for twelve hours. But the important thing, Kel, is that you’re an idiot.”           

            She thought about it. “I am?”

            “Yes, you are. Do you remember me asking you, oh, a dozen times while we were travelling, if you were alright? And you saying every single time you were fine? Yes? Well, you weren’t, because I didn’t do a good enough job on you at Rathhausak, for which I have been thoroughly scolded by my dear papa.”

            “Oh.” She tried a smile. “I told him you did all you possibly could, Neal, and more. Don’t be cross.”

            “Cross? _Cross!_ I’m not cross with you, Kel. I’m … I’m …”

            “Upset?”

            He stared at her. “Try baffled and _worried_. Kel, you must have been in _serious_ pain from that wound.”

            “It was only pain. I suppressed it.”

            “You suppressed it.” He shuddered. “Kel, you _must_ have a brain in there somewhere so will you please _use_ it. Pain is a warning. Serious pain is an alarm. It tells you something’s _wrong_. Something I could have _fixed_.”

            “I couldn’t risk wasting your Gift on me when we might have had to fight at any time. Suppose a child had been wounded, Neal? Suppose one had died because I thought my shoulder hurt too much? I’d never forgive myself.”

            “You didn’t _think_ it hurt too much, Kel. It _did_ hurt too much. And it’s not _wasting_ the Gift when the alternative is doing yourself serious damage and fainting from blood loss!”

            She tried to hide her blushes in the glass of twilsey. “No fair, Neal. That was only because I tore it open again grabbing Irnai when she fainted. I didn’t realise it was bleeding so badly.”

            “And it was bleeding so badly because you hadn’t let me treat you as you needed.” He still sounded indignant but curiosity distracted him. “Why did Irnai faint, anyway? She was fine earlier and wandered off this morning as if nothing had happened, but father was fussing like a loon over her last night when he wasn’t flapping his arms about you and telling me off from here to Midwinter.”

            The images made Kel smile but caution gripped her tongue. “What did anyone else say about what happened?”

            “No-one said a gods-blessed thing to me. That’s why I’m asking you.”

            Kel hesitated. “I think I’d better stay quiet too, I’m afraid. But the Chamber spoke through her, so that’s all dealt with. Your father thought she fainted because of its power.”

            “Oh. Well, that makes sense.” He looked disappointed. “Can you really say nothing else, Kel?”

            “Not about Irnai.” The memory of the seer’s prophecy made her extremely uncomfortable and she thought it unlikely it would be made public any time soon. “For the rest, I reported. General Vanget and the King asked questions, were very happy Blayce and Stenmun were dead, and pardoned our disobedience.”

            Neal grinned. “Told you. What did the Stump say?”

            “I didn’t have the chance to talk to him properly. Nor to my Lord. It was all General Vanget and the King.” She turned the subject. “What were you and the others doing?”

            “Getting the younglings settled and having a long, glorious wash, mostly. Until I was summoned to explain your wound and be told off, that is.”

            She was glad to hear a teasing note return to his voice but gladder still when Duke Baird’s voice came from the doorway.

            “As was proper. How else will you learn?” He came forward, dropping a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, Keladry? You lost a lot of blood.”

            “Fine, thank you, your Grace.”

            “I doubt it.” He shifted his hand to her bandaged shoulder, sending a pulse of magic into her, then a longer stream. “You should drink as much as you can and sleep again. And no more stoicism. Your weight’s down badly and you _need_ to put it back. The gods know you’ll be busy again soon enough. Neal, there’s a soldier coming in with a badly crushed finger. You’re still too drained to help, but you should come watch the bonework.”

            With a quick smile he strode out, and Neal stood with a muttered curse. “I’ll be back.”

            Left to herself Kel stroked Nari with a gentle forefinger, then felt the healing tug at her mind and let her hand drop as her eyes closed. When she woke again the animals were gone and there was no sign of Neal, but an orderly was setting down a tray beside her bed. Seeing her eyes open he helped her to sit up, awkwardly clutching the sheet, and shifted the tray to her lap.

            “You’ve missed lunch by a ways, my Lady, but we saved you cold cuts and fruit. When you’ve eaten and drunk you’re cleared to rise and dress, but must keep your arm in a sling until His Grace says otherwise. There’s people who want to see you, then you’re to report to my Lord of Cavall.”

            He bustled out as Kel murmured thanks. Finding herself ravenous and thirsty she tackled the contents of the tray with gusto. Repletion and what seemed like a gallon of twilsey left her feeling sleepy again but her bladder was demanding she make it at least as far as the adjoining privy. Once there and more comfortable, simple decency and the waiting ewer of warm water required that she strip off the stained loincloth that was all she had on and cleanse herself from top to toe, working round the bandages on her shoulder. Much happier but sharply conscious of her nakedness she peered carefully round the privy door, prepared to make a dash for the sheets, but found the outer door closed and a pile of clothes folded neatly on the bed. A worn breastband and loincloth must belong to a Queen’s Rider; the clean breeches, shirt, and tunic were her own, and after a moment she realised her travel bag had been left here when news of Haven’s fall had sent her riding into the night.

            Decent again, though unshod, she reluctantly donned the last item, a linen sling, and let her arm rest below her breasts. The ease in her shoulder was palpable, and she wondered how soon she could return to her dawn glaive practice. Healers were always fusspots but the next battle didn’t wait on their caution, nor the next chore, and a warrior out of practice was a liability. Boots were all she needed to face the world and she wondered where hers had got to—and her armour, come to that. Fuelled with determination she opened the door and promptly found her waist and leg engulfed by Gydo and Meech; beyond them Tobe and Loesia rose from chairs, the former holding up her boots, cleaned and polished.

            Smiling at the pair, she hugged Gydo with her free arm and crouched to transfer it to Meech. Easing his grip on her leg the boy reached out gently to stroke the hand protruding from her sling and again buried his head against her.

            “You’re hurt.” His voice was almost inaudible. “Will you get better?”

            “Oh yes, sweeting. I’m all healed. I just have to rest my shoulder for a while.” She stroked his hair. “How are you? I’m so proud of you being so brave for so long.”

            He peeked up at her. “I was scared.”

            “So was I, Meech.” She eased him back so she could look straight at him. “Bravery isn’t not being scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes. It’s doing what you have to do even when you’re scared. And you did, brilliantly. You’re my hero, you know.”

            His smile was blinding. “And you’re mine.”

            She hugged him hard enough to produce a faint squeak, and rose slowly so whatever blood she had left didn’t drain from her head and embarrass her again. Meech held her leg and she let her good arm rest across Gydo’s shoulders as she met Tobe’s eyes. “How are you? And how’s your side?” He’d taken an arrow at Rathhausak.

            “Never better, Mother. The wound’s just a scar now, and I’m fed an’ washed an’ everythin’ but home.”

            “That’ll take a while, Tobe.” She reached to ruffle his hair affectionately. “Wherever home might turn out to be.”

            He nodded. “My lord said we’d be rebuildin’ soon as we can.”

            “Which my lord?”

            “Lord Wyldon.” Tobe never used Neal’s nickname for Mastiff’s commander. “You’re to see him straightaway. Let me do your boots.”

            She let herself be persuaded to a chair, exchanging a quick handclasp with Loesia. Sitting put her eyes at Gydo’s level, and while Tobe eased her boots on she asked quiet questions about the girl’s welfare, and how other children were faring. Reassured, and intrigued by Meech’s excited claim that ‘the big, curly man’ had told them the King was very pleased with them all, she accepted Loesia’s hand to haul herself to her feet and they set off towards the sunshine streaming through the infirmary door.

            Outside the girls skipped away, Meech happily swinging between them, and Kel walked slowly with Tobe towards the command building. Halfway across the parade ground she realised the casual conversations and background noise of a working fort had dropped away as soldiers stared at her, not only on the ground but from the gateway and alures. Her Yamani mask slipped into place but when clapping started she could not prevent herself flushing scarlet. A glance at Tobe showed him beaming boyish pride and her mortification was complete when Lord Wyldon appeared in the doorway of the command building, drawn by the noise, and stood watching too, puzzlement vanishing into his usual impassivity as he took in what was happening.

            “Mindelan.” She had expected his voice to be sardonic but it was simply calm as he inspected her briefly. “You’re looking better. Come in.”

            He went back inside and Kel followed, squeezing Tobe’s shoulder in silent thanks and being rewarded with a dazzling smile as he trotted off towards the stables. The door to Lord Wyldon’s office stood open and he waved her to a chair, closing the door behind her before pouring her yet more twilsey and seating himself behind his neatly crowded desk.

            “Baird says you need to drink.”

            Wishing her face would cool faster she thanked him and sipped, sitting as upright as her chair allowed. To her surprise he leaned back, one hand rising to touch his scarred cheek and rub his forehead. He seemed oddly hesitant but sat forward again, taking a breath.

            “Lady Knight—Keladry—I owe you an apology. Two in fact.”

            She managed to catch her jaw before it dropped.

            “ _You_ owe _me_ an apology? Surely I owe one to you, my Lord, for my disobedience.”

            He waved a hand. “No, no. We dealt with that and one apology I owe you is for the misguided order you disobeyed. I placed the refugees in your care and had not relieved you of that responsibility. I should not have ordered you to abandon them.”

            Uneasily she let her gaze fall to the papers on his desk. “You had other responsibilities, my Lord, of which I knew nothing.”

            “Maggur’s little foray, you mean? It makes no odds, and events have shown you were right to do as you did. Look at me, please.”

            Startled she raised her eyes and saw his expression was at once compassionate and, she would have sworn, embarrassed.

            “The other apology is more complicated, I’m afraid, and more serious. Do you recall what the King and I said to you last night?”

            She thought back and realised what he must mean. “You both said my analysis was flawed.”

            “Yes, military and political alike, for the same reason—you placed no value on yourself. Some of that is simply lack of experience of what the King, or people like myself and Duke Turomot, will and will not do to placate people like Stone Mountain and Genlith. But some is not and in large part my fault. Don’t look so startled—we both know I did little to encourage you as a page and much to make it harder for you than it should have been.”

            Kel’s surprise was compounded by his wry smile. When she’d first seen him here in the north, at Giantkiller, she’d realised that in field command he was happier than he’d ever been as training master. But she still couldn’t recall seeing him smile.

            “In my defence, I might say boys do not usually need their self-importance boosting, and your mask led me to believe your defiance of convention was fed by a pride that would sustain you. But I entirely misunderstood your modesty, and your clear inability last night to understand how important a figure you are becoming must be addressed, however uncomfortable we both find it.”

            His gaze swung away for a moment before returning to her.

            “I also belatedly realise that my decision to place you in command at Haven must have seemed a further denigration of your abilities. I believed you might think, however wrongly, that I was protecting you from front-line combat. And I knew you understood my decision was nevertheless genuine, that you were—are—the best commander available to me. But I regret it did not occur to me that you might think it a _political_ refusal to credit your worth.”

            Kel had never heard him speak so openly, but as she tried to absorb his words she realised she’d never had a genuine conversation with him, even reporting to him as a commander—and his demeanour towards her as training master _was_ at the root of that. But there was no trace of that reserved disapproval today. She fumbled for words.

            “I didn’t, exactly, my Lord. And I soon realised how much the work mattered, and that I enjoyed it. It was just … I don’t know, it was like waiting to be picked as a squire, before Lord Raoul came back to the palace and I thought with Lady Alanna forbidden from choosing me no knight would want to take The Girl.”

            His wry smile returned. “I can see that. And I realised last night, after the drama, that you reminded me of your attitude after rescuing your maid. You truly believed then, though nothing that happened was any fault of yours, that I would make you repeat all four years.”

            “That was the rule.”

            He snorted. “That was a threat, Keladry. What possible use would it be to the realm to make someone as capable as you kick your heels for four years repeating training you had mastered? In any case, the threat was designed to ensure punctuality, not punish someone who was criminally prevented from arriving at all.”

            The reference to Joren’s kidnapping of Lalasa brought a look of extreme distaste to his austere face.

            “Similarly, penalties for disobedience are severe for good reason. But what is necessary when a soldier is a real troublemaker, or a coward, is hardly called for when a full commander knows their senior is ignorant of something that matters, and in disregarding a misguided last-minute order saves hundreds of lives that would otherwise be lost.”

            Kel’s eyes widened steadily as he spoke. “But you were only ignorant because I hadn’t explained what I feared would happen to the children.”

            “And you think I would have heeded you?” He shook his head. “I should like to believe I would have listened carefully, but if the Chamber hadn’t made its appearance last night I’m not sure I’d believe you now, though I know you don’t lie. And that too is an aspect of the problem, Keladry, because the politics of your knighthood as a woman _would_ have been at work.” He tapped fingers on his desk, slowly, brow furrowed. “It is unjust and unwise, but also an effect of your unique position, and will ease as more women undergo their ordeals. Did you know there will be three more female pages starting in the autumn?”

            Her startlement showed, to Lord Wyldon’s evident amusement.

            “You shouldn’t be so surprised—it’s largely your doing. You must have known people were watching you closely, and heard them at the tilts on that never-ending Progress.”

            “Well, yes, but I didn’t expect …”

            “Anyone but your close friends to _approve_ your example? Including the King and Padraig haMinch?” He shook his head again. “I can’t blame you. Mithros knows we’ve given you little reason to expect more of us.” His fingers drummed again. “We cannot deal with all of that today, but I suggest you consider carefully—from a military as well as political angle—that those nobles who are called or call themselves conservative are of very different kinds. There are those for whom pride of blood is overriding, as for Stone Mountain and his son. That kind may serve in the army or the Own, but under His Majesty you will not find them commanding. Glaisdan of Haryse was the last and you know what happened to him, Black God rest his soul.” He made the circle on his chest. “Then there are traditionalists like myself and Vanget, who believe crown service is an essential discipline and dislike change for the sake of change, when we see no need. But when change proves itself or we do see a practical need we are at heart realists and accept it. Yes?”

            Captivated, she nodded.

            “So. Your mistake was to confuse what the first might say with what the second would do. Vanget as much as I doubted your fitness for knight training when you began, and we would both prefer a world in which women did not have to fight at all, let alone train for knighthood. But we’re not likely to get it and neither of us now doubts your exceptional competence as a knight and commander. Nor do men like His Grace of Naxen and my Lord of Legann, who have followed your progress carefully and drawn their own conclusions.”

            It seemed to be Kel’s day for blushing uncontrollably and she looked down again. Lord Wyldon sighed softly.

            “Goldenlake said you’d need it spelling out. Keladry, Haven may be a refugee camp rather than a fort, but it _is_ a full command. When you and the other pages ran into those bandits, what qualities did the others show? And what are their current appointments? Put it together. You are the only commander of your generation anywhere and if you live you’ll replace Goldenlake at the Own within a decade. Come to that, next time the Scanrans decide they want a war you might well be in Vanget’s shoes. Don’t look at me like that—it’s no more than truth.”

            Kel found herself beyond embarrassment, or perhaps just no longer concerned with it as she strove to digest his astonishing words. It was true Raoul had always implied she’d command but she’d never entirely believed him, thinking neither knights nor soldiers would accept a girl in authority. But enough was enough, her tongue had at last unfrozen, and she met his gaze.

            “Forgive me, my Lord, but if I didn’t believe command at Haven was quite the same as command at Mastiff or Steadfast, I had reason. You have eight companies. I had four squads. You have a double wall reaching thirty feet, with earthworks and abatis. I had a single palisade that struggled to reach fifteen. You have a score of battle-mages. I had one healer. And while I realised that under regulations I was technically senior to anyone in the district other than yourself or my Lord of Goldenlake, there was _nothing_ to suggest anyone took that seriously.”

            He surprised her again with what she could only call a grin.

            “Better, Mindelan. Much better. And you’re right on all counts—we did not sufficiently consider Maggur’s tactics when Haven was built and staffed, and the fact you were sent straight there prevented me from integrating you properly into the command structure, as I would had you been here. But we shan’t be making the same mistakes again, and these new spellmirrors of Numair’s are a great boon.”

            She’d thought as much when she first saw one the night before, and nodded. “I wondered if they were Master Numair’s work.”

            “A Carthaki spell he adapted, he says. I’ll make sure you get one.”

            As she had passed beyond embarrassment Kel found herself beyond surprise, and raised her eyebrows in query. Lord Wyldon grinned again.

            “Better still. Yes, you remain in your command. Now”—he gestured to the district map on the wall—“despite that prophecy there’s nowhere we can put refugees except the Greenwoods valley. Anak’s Eyrie is deserted and we can’t hope to get anyone back there at least until Giantkiller is rebuilt. Riversedge and Bearsford have taken in everyone they can support, and Tirrsmont won’t even take his own.” He scowled. “So the Greenwoods it must be.”

            Kel nodded shortly. She didn’t like the logic and bitterly resented the selfish arrogance of the lord of Tirrsmont, father of the knight who’d tried to kill her in a joust, whose only concern with the death and displacement of hundreds of his liegefolk was his loss of tithes. The young lord of Anak’s Eyrie had died defending his exposed fief, leaving no heir, so he deserved no blame, but she knew the refugees were barred from the south only by nobles who wanted no trouble or expense. She watched as Lord Wyldon carefully steepled his fingers.

            “With the death of Blayce the situation changes somewhat. We no longer have reason to fear a raid of the kind Stenmun led, but do have reason to fear attacks targeted specifically on you and your people. Giantkiller will be enlarged, and as many additional companies as we can find stationed there, to screen you. But Haven must be rebuilt with far better defences. Tell me, how much have you studied fortification and defensive works? You know some of the terms.”

            Kel managed a shrug with her good shoulder. “Nothing formal, my Lord, beyond page-classes, but Lord Raoul had me study anywhere the Own took us. We talked about what we saw and I read military history when I have the chance.”

            “Fair enough. And you did a good, job improvising at Haven with those stones, but you might look at this.” He slid a small dog-eared book towards her. “Orchan of Eridui. He wasn’t very original but he is clear, and he had an idea or two worth knowing about mageblasts. In any case, you’ve fought behind walls enough to know what works and what’s only for show. And this time you’ll have proper resources to work with.”

            “I will?”

            “Yes. On Vanget’s orders Haven is to be rebuilt as a true fort, and he’ll be sending the eastern building team to join our own. So your first job, _when_ you’re recovered and Numair can get here, is to choose a site and get started. You’ll have any refugees who are able and willing, and we’ll supply guards and a commissariat until you can get kitchens running behind decent walls. In the longer run, though, there’ll be limits on the soldiers I can give you, especially with Giantkiller to man as well.”

            “I understand, my Lord.” And while she didn’t like this logic any more than the other she _did_ understand. Though a smaller country with fewer people, Scanra’s fighting strength represented far more of its total population than Tortall’s, and she knew from her years in the Own that recruitment to Crown forces was a constant struggle. Tortall had taken heavy casualties only a decade ago during the Immortals War, with all too many places still underpopulated and making good damage sustained. And in this war the killing devices had already taken an appalling toll. But it wasn’t just soldiers as such who mattered. “About how many should I expect to have?”

            She saw Wyldon review numbers in his head. “A company, in addition to Connac’s squad and the convict soldiers you already have. Perhaps more, but if so they’ll be convicts too. Given the likely length of your perimeter you’ll still need refugees to help man the walls, but that’ll give you a genuine force to put in the field at need.”

            Kel’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “A regular company?”

            “Maybe. More likely scratch.”

            “So no company staff.”

            He frowned. “Probably not. Why?”

            “Mages. And clerks”

            “Ah. Clerks I can manage but mages _are_ a problem. We’ve been badly stretched, magically, by the killing devices. We’re not sure if they actually targeted mages or if it was just that mages felt they had to try to fight them first. Either way, our mage numbers are down.”

            “So are the enemy’s, by one at least.” Kel’s voice was edged and it was his turn to look surprised. “I want at least one mage, my Lord. One decent battlemage, with enough juice to blast anyone he’s likely to encounter. Or we’ll be nicely penned-in ducks when any Scanran party that _does_ have a mage worth his feed turns up.”

            He rubbed his forehead in that characteristic gesture. “If we think you’re likely to be targeted at least once, we can hardly suppose Maggur would not send such a mage against you. Very well. Haven will have first claim on any mage I can get.”

            Something snapped in the back of Kel’s mind. “Forgive me, my Lord, but you already have _dozens_. So do Lord Raoul and General Vanget.” Her mask was already so far off she laid it aside and locked eyes, passion pouring into her voice. “Do you know what I was thinking when you rode off and left me to bury my dead at Haven? That your Company Eight with one hundred well-armed men had mages who could hold _four_ killing devices at once. And that my five hundred half-trained civilians had faced six or more of those nightmares with no-one but a healer and a hedgewitch. I believe you said you wouldn’t be repeating your mistakes.”

            He stared, surprise shifting into a thin smile. “You were always a fast learner. And you’re right, again. Unless some further threat like the devices enters the field—gods forfend—I can reasonably strip one mage from each company for you.” He frowned. “Or, better, take the scratch company here and give you a regular one, mages and all. You’d lose Hollyrose, though. The company second would be in charge of patrols.”

            Kel thought hard for a moment. “I think Merric would be willing to serve as joint second. He knows he made a mistake at Haven, not believing the sparrows. There wasn’t anything he could have done anyway and Goddess knows he did his best after, but that’s why he insisted the others take him along, I think. They had to tie him to his horse.”

            He snorted. “I imagine they did, though that’s rich from you.”

            Kel was very glad she still seemed to be beyond embarrassment. “I wonder where we learned such attitudes, my Lord.” His mouth twitched. “But the point is that time as second to someone experienced would be of benefit. Goddess knows I’d prefer it myself. And I’d like to keep Merric, if I may. He’s popular with the refugees, too.”

            “I thought his attitudes towards them were a bit stiff.”           

            Kel did her one-shoulder shrug. “At first, a little. But he was unsure of himself, as we all were. And while he did think Neal and I were a bit soft on commoners he was never like Quinden, or that lord of Tirrsmont. And he soon learned. Everyone did at Haven.”

            “Very well, then. And that reminds me—you said in your report that before you crossed the Vassa a patrol led by Marti’s Hill passed within yards of you and saw nothing. What _were_ their scouts doing?”

            “There were none, my Lord.” She knew her voice had flattened. “Just Quinden and ten mounted soldiers behind him.” She hesitated, but it had been an afternoon for truths. “I didn’t really want to mention it. It feels like telling tales. But if we’d been Scanrans he and those men would all be dead, and the men deserve better.”

            “Quite right.” Wyldon looked both annoyed and thoughtful. “And harder to say because you dislike him, I imagine. I’d find it so. But if the fool had no scouts words must be had. He knew Giantkiller had fallen and that he was very much the front line. Is it just arrogance, do you think?”

            Even in this conversation Kel was surprised he would ask such a question. “Mostly. He’s never thought rules apply to him. But he’s also lazy and I’m not sure he’s ever realised that cribbing an answer isn’t the same as working it out.”

            Wyldon smiled. “A useful summary. Goldenlake was a good teacher.”

            “So were you, my Lord.”

            “Not so much, I think.”

            “You’re wrong.”

            He stared at her flat denial, but Kel had had a chance to absorb some of the astonishing things he had said to her when this strange conversation started, what felt like hours ago. The memory of the King’s words the night before was also burning in her mind—the truths she had heard Wyldon acknowledge five years before, when he resigned as training master, and there were things she wished she had said then.

            “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, my Lord, and the mistake you made with Joren and Vinson wasn’t in what you taught them. It was what you _didn’t_ teach them. The tension between us meant it took me longer than it should to realise you credited them with the same honour you have yourself, so it never occurred to you to teach them chivalry as well as combat. But both were honourless.”

            She smiled crookedly. “All those times we fell down, did you ever wonder about the chivalry of three seniors fighting one junior? Or about the kind of person who bullies not to gain results but because they covet fear as greenly as any stormwing? Of course you didn’t. You’d no more do such things yourself than you’d strike a servant or one of the littles. I know he annoys you but Neal has the right words for Joren and Vinson. He says they were lame in their souls as a man is halt in the leg. In the end even the Chamber couldn’t fix Joren, but your mistake was one of omission, not commission.”

            He was still staring, a very strange expression on his face.

            “As for myself, I’m not sure. You and the King are right about _how_ I was thinking but I need time to know if I agree about why I do that.” She hesitated. “I don’t deny the attitudes I faced played a part. But I fear it goes deeper.” Even today, in _this_ conversation, she wasn’t about to tell him she thought the open contempt of some of her sisters and in-laws for her shape and ambitions had sunk barbs in her as deeply as the bullying assault by her brother that birthed her fear of heights. “And I did not fear you would act in prejudice, my Lord, only that you would have to act in duty.”

            His glance was penetrating. “I am glad to know it. But you did fear the King would act in expedience, hmm?”

            She faced it squarely. “Yes. I don’t like him, not that that matters. But I don’t trust him either. ”

            “Nor should you, altogether. He is a king, and does as he must.”

            “I know.”

            “And yet you will find with closer knowledge that he is as loyal as you to those he counts friends and allies.” Suddenly he waved a hand. “But all this can be boiled down to something much simpler—the law of success. Had you dragged in here a failure with a casualty roll and no refugees, or been captured and given information, your fears might not have been altogether foolish though _I_ would have preferred no charge. But success changes everything.” His thin smile returned. “Which is the story of your career, so perhaps you should just keep doing it.” He leaned back. “Now, I have things I must do and you should go see your refugees. They were concerned to hear you were in the infirmary and will appreciate some reassurances.”

            “Of course, my Lord. May I tell them about rebuilding?”

            “By all means.” He hesitated before continuing stiffly. “And there is one more thing. I have several times used your personal name but you have not presumed on mine. I would be honoured if in private you would do so.”

            Yet again Kel caught her jaw from dropping by a whisker and spoke in shock. “But you don’t even call Lord Raoul anything but Goldenlake.”

            “We are colleagues, not friends. But you and I …” He swallowed, and looked her in the eye. “I once said I spoke to you as my daughter. That was an impertinence, however sincere. But I will say plainly I have taught no-one I more admire, and given how we have spoken together today …”

            _I am a lake. I am calm._ Kel didn’t need the second ellipsis from a man whose speech was always resoundingly crisp to know how embarrassed he was. _How vulnerable. Who would have imagined that?_ Slowly she stood, gathering herself before offering her good hand.

            “The honour is mine, Wyldon.”

            He took it.

            A minute later Kel found herself once more standing scarlet-faced in the parade ground, holding Orchan of Eridui and aware of sentries contenting themselves glancing at her from the corners of their eyes. After depositing Orchan in her rooms, where she found her armour and travel pack, all clean, she wandered to the refugee barracks, then out to the tents below the walls, letting inner turmoil fade into the warmth of adults and excited hugs of children, answering endless questions about her sling. Jump and Nari found her there and she endured the peeps of the sparrow’s scolding as she tucked herself onto Kel’s good shoulder.

            Sensing some signs of the haunting nightmares she knew so well, and mindful of Neal’s warning, she gathered Fanche, Saefas, and Olka Valestone into quiet conversation. Neal’s analogy with draining a wound met with sharp nods, and other adults were drawn in. Relieved, Kel also spread word of the rebuilding, asking for opinions about the site, and promptly gained a volley of ideas that added up to higher walls, concern about what would happen to the ruins of Haven, and the need to keep as much of the valley’s arable land as possible.

            Returning towards the gate, Nari on her shoulder and Jump at her heels, she met Owen, Merric, and Seaver heading the other way. Exchanging hugs she gathered Faleron had already returned to duty, Merric had at last completed his report, and Owen had not been blamed by Wyldon for the death of Happy nor (after stern words) for following Kel, and had begun to forgive himself. She also heard a mixed account of the knights’ tense but uneventful return with the adults, and was delighted to realise they were on their way to check on refugees they had come to know in the peculiar intimacy of that journey. Owen, similarly, was off to see some children he said reminded him of his little brother, killed by bandits with his mother.

            “It’s sad,” he remarked. “Odd, but nice too. And I do think they were brave.”

            Smiling Kel bade them farewell and went in search of Lord Raoul. Her progress was delayed by encounters with a respectful Sergeant Connac, who managed to convey enthusiasm at remaining under her command and greeted Jump handsomely, and then with Neal, who suspiciously felt her forehead and pulse before beginning to mutter about teas. She was tempted to tell him what had passed between her and Wyldon but reserved the pleasure and made her escape by directing him to a nasty suspicion of a sniffle in one of the younglings. Finally she was able to slip behind the command building to the guest quarters for visiting officers, and knock softly on Raoul’s door.

            She was in luck and he contemplated her with a grin. “Come in, Kel. I was hoping to see you. I’m back to Steadfast in the morning. Dom and his lads too, I’m afraid. Juice?”

            With it he bought a strip of jerky for Jump and a handful of seed for Nari, and they talked easily for a while, about the ‘little army’ of Maggur’s that Raoul’s and Wyldon’s men had smashed and the fight at Rathhausak. He quizzed her hard for a moment about how she’d used the forces available to her, then blew out a breath.

            “Hag’s bones, Kel. You’ve a spine of steel as well as the luck of the gods. What you needed was blazebalm for the barracks.”

            “I know, but I’m actually glad we had none. Neal would have had to set it off, and I’d as soon not leave him with _that_ kind of nightmare. It’s bad enough with spidrens.” She shuddered at those memories.

            “Point. But it’s better than being killed.” He sat forward. “Kel, I know I believe in whittling down odds, and you did it magnificently. But gods! Twenty-nine to rescue two hundred children _and_ fight one-hundred-and-fifty experienced men? It was a desperation throw.”

            Kel nodded. “It was that or give up and go home. And if I can’t take a joke I shouldn’t have joined.”

            He laughed at the old saw. “Right you are. And a knight’s life is all cheer and glory.”

            She laughed back, then gathered herself. “May I ask you something, my Lord?”

            He scowled hugely. “Of course you may. And what’s all this my-lording? If I’ve told you once I’m just Raoul, I’ve told you a hundred times. And why in Mithros’s name are you blushing like that?”

            Hesitantly Kel explained that she found herself on first-name terms with Wyldon, and after a moment he collapsed into his chair with a long whistle followed by a guffaw.

            “Kel, that’s … superb. I always knew he was a decent old stick, even when I wanted to brain him for sheer stubbornness. You join a very select band. Even Jon feels it’s a liberty to omit the man’s title.”

            Kel gathered herself. “Actually it was the king I wanted to ask about.”

            “Oh yes? You’re blushing again. Out with it.”

            She retreated into a fragile dignity. “I realise there’s nothing to be done about appearing before his Majesty in very little except breeches and a breastband.”

            Raoul’s eyes twinkled. “It _was_ rather spectacular. But if you _will_ refuse healings when you need ’em …”

            “I know, and if I didn’t Neal has already reminded me.”

            “I bet he has. Baird was quite agitated.”

            “Yes, yes. Healers!” Raoul grinned unrepentantly. “But what I wanted to ask was if the King was angry.”

            “Angry? About seeing you receive treatment you needed?”

            “No. About what I said.”

            “Which bit?”

            She glared at him. “To Blayce’s corpse.”

            “Oh, that. Gods, no. It goosed him magnificently and his face was a picture, but he won’t be angry. We didn’t discuss it but I’ll bet you he was impressed, and devoutly glad you _did_ spare him the temptation. As kings go Jon’s really not that touchy, especially when people hand him great big surprise presents.” He grinned at her. “Kel, I don’t recommend you try shouting at him the way Alanna and I do. Gary too, sometimes, and Thayet often. We were all young together, and it’s different. But Jon’s got pretty good truthsense, and he won’t punish anyone for honest words loyally spoken. All else aside, he knows it doesn’t pay. And nothing you said to his face, nor in that weird vision, was anything but true and loyal.” He raised his glass to her. “Nice move with Stenmun, by the way. I hadn’t really thought about using a glaive like that, for all it’s a move in one of your dances.”

            Accepted his assurance, she took the lighter gambit gratefully and they fell back into chat for a moment, before she rose and thanked him.

            “Anytime, Kel.”

            Parting, she couldn’t resist telling him that Meech had christened him ‘the big curly man’ and Tobe said he made a pair with the Storkman.

            “The Storkman?”

            “Master Numair. It’s what Daine’s pony calls him, apparently.”

            “Cloud?” He guffawed again. “That’s a hoot. I wonder if Buri knows. And I’m happy to be big and curly for Meech. He’s the little boy whose doll’s yarn you followed?”

            “That’s right. I’ve promised to get him a new one. I thought Lalasa would have some nice red wool.”

            He ruffled her hair. “You’re a treasure, Kel. And your report’s a classic. If you don’t see them I’ll give Dom and the others your best. And there’s the wedding at Steadfast next month, of course—you won’t be missing that. Now, go find some food and then your bed.”

            Comforted by his simple friendship, she went.


	3. Surveying

Chapter Three — Surveying

_20 June – 2 July_

 

It was four days before Kel was allowed to leave off her sling. With the distraction of Samradh ceremonies and her unmarked birthday past she tried to invent a pattern dance using only her good shoulder—an exercise watched by soldiers with caution and Baird with exasperation. When he reluctantly gave permission to work her shoulder again, he was healer-blunt.

            “Keladry, the axe-point hit your shoulder-blade, and the bone _really_ didn’t like it. I’ve speeded healing, but it must finish on its own. Stick to slow exercises for at least a week. No push-ups or pull-ups or anything of that kind for ten days, and no tumbling. Make sure you eat well too—meat, milk, cheese—and I should check that bone again in a month or so.”

            She obeyed, knowing she’d be a fool to abuse the luck she’d had in both Queenscove healers but disliking the limitation intently before deciding it was a useful challenge. With her refugees in Mastiff’s charge she had little to do administratively, though she spent time every day with the children and usually ate with the adults; Peachblossom and Hoshi enjoyed extended grooming and Jump was thoroughly washed, to the sparrows’ amusement. Once both Kel’s arms were again her own she scrounged swords and spears from the fort’s armourer and restarted training sessions for the refugees, Tortallans, Scanrans, adults, and children alike, which led to another, less welcome lesson for herself.

            At Haven the scorn of army regulars for her egalitarian approach had been tempered by respect for results; here soldiers seemed to expect to see her training civilians at arms; nor was a single voice raised to protest training Scanrans. Sergeants and corporals, Connac among them, went out of their way to help, demonstrating exercises to those having difficulty and cutting down spears for younger children. Connac had been her first real supporter in training them beside the adults, approving the deadly seriousness with which even under-tens practiced staff and spearwork, and she sought him out to thank him for whatever magic he’d worked on her behalf here. Smiling, he shook his head.

            “Oh, when I’ve been asked I’ve said what I saw, Lady Kel, and they heard me well enough. But it’s not me you’ve to thank. You put yourself on the line for your people, army and civilian alike, when war sold ’em down the river. That goes a long way with us.” He shrugged. “It’s a lot of why I came with you. Someone had to. And word’s out it was you that stopped the killing devices when you rescued the children and killed that mage, so there’s not a man here who hasn’t thanked Mithros and the Black God both for blessing us with you.”

            He paused thoughtfully, sucking his teeth.

            “And begging your pardon, my Lady, but you’re like my Lord of Goldenlake with those lads of his. Plenty of fun with hard work but no nonsense when it counts, and never any needless temper or injustice.” He shrugged. “The lads here _like_ you, they respect you, and they’re very thankful to you. I couldn’t stop ’em helping you if I tried. And if you want anything else doing, you’ve only to say.”

            Back in her room, once again red-faced, she decided she was tired of such embarrassments. It struck her that the Lioness must have had a similar problem becoming famous and she smiled at the thought of the things Sir Alanna might have said before realising she’d just compared herself with the age’s greatest heroine, and blushing again. Thoroughly irritated with herself she tucked Orchan of Eridui under her arm and took herself off to a quiet corner of the kitchen garden.

            After working steadily through the short treatise she decided Wyldon had been exactly right. She hadn’t really learned anything new save a few words, but the principles of defensive fortification were now clear in her mind. An enemy’s approach was made difficult and exhausting with slopes, ditches, and obstacles. The abatis protected the base of the outer wall and if an enemy did surmount it, using ladders, the gap between the walls was a killing field for well-armed defenders on the alure of the inner wall. Short of warmagery or siege engines, the danger was hinged ladders or planks that could span the gap from the allering of the outer wall to the parapet of the inner, but unless the alure were seriously undermanned, attackers would have to be prepared to spend blood like water. Most weren’t, and successful attacks almost always breached the one inevitable weak-point in any enclosing wall.

            Her memory of shattered, gaping gates at Giantkiller and Haven underlined Orchan’s blunt conclusion. After describing the defences a gatehouse barbican should have, from multiple portcullises to traps and positions covering the roadway—a scale of construction even Mastiff lacked—he did devote a couple of pages to ways whereby the approach to a gate might be protected. She read that passage twice but the long and short of it stayed the same, that if a gate were to serve its whole purpose and let your own people in and out, it could be made to admit others. The only thing that struck her was the observation that it was desirable to restrict the level space before a gate, and that when the fortified position was atop a hill the gate-road should turn, narrow, and rise sharply just before reaching it. A trap in the roadway itself might be possible, she supposed, wondering how deep a pit would have to be to be effective. There had been another mention of mageblasts in an earlier chapter, about ladderwork, and she flipped back to find it.

            _The siege of Rostholm in 118 is famous as a successful escalade, but if the assailants were bold and well equipped, with surprise on their side, Lord Grogar had placed overmuch faith in the height of his walls and paid dearly for undermanned alures. A more interesting lesson is that the smaller castle at Graverran did not fall, though assaulted by another division of haMinch’s army on the same night, using the same method. Its commander, Grogar’s elder son but cut from another cloth, had filled large nets (to which mageblasts were attached) with rocks, and suspended them below every second merlon of his outer parapets. When the attempted escalade began the alert duty commander fired the mageblasts, and the resulting rockfalls smashed most ladders and inflicted considerable casualties on troops clustered around them. The fallen rocks proved awkward obstacles to any further escalade, and after desultory exchanges the surviving haMinchi forces, learning their fellows had taken Rostholm, withdrew in search of easier pickings._

            Kel vaguely recalled the more enterprising younger Grogar coming to an unfortunate end of some kind, but she very much liked his rocks. At Haven she had used nets against killing devices but hadn’t considered their use as passive weapons, holding something back until need arose. And such passivity, she thought with rising excitement, might be applied more widely. She and a score of men had spent a back-breaking morning making safe a pile of rocks fallen from crags on the valley’s western side that had threatened the field below—but if a mage were available for heavy lifting, and rockpiles rested on cradles mined with mageblasts, she could put lethal traps in many places. Roads might be blocked as well as places to stand ladders. And much as she hated the stuff she was going to have to lay hands on blazebalm too, for one good thing about ladders was that they burned. The problem would be making sure you didn’t set fire to your outer wall. Energised, she trotted back towards her room, but crossing the parade ground heard herself hailed by Owen.

            “Kel, I was looking for you. Master Numair’s here.” Coming up to her he grinned. “I know you want to be doing but don’t get too excited. He can’t go to the Greenwoods until the day after tomorrow because he’s making spellmirrors, but the Wildmage should be here by then, too.” He leaned in confidentially. “She’s at Anak’s Eyrie, negotiating with a _spidren_. Can you believe it?”

            Kel stared astonishment. Spidrens didn’t negotiate or come in good and bad flavours, like so many immortals. _But their babies scream when we burn them._ She choked down the thought: little spidrens meant big spidrens and all spidrens were bad.

            “I know. But it’s interesting, I suppose. Different, anyway. Oh, and Master Numair wants to see you as soon as you like.” He brightened. “There’s a slap-up meal tonight, with that boar that was silly enough to charge Seaver yesterday. We’re all invited.”

            “Who’s we?”

            “We heroes of the Great Rescue. Isn’t it jolly?” At her horrified expression his face fell. “What’s wrong?”

            “Are you seriously telling me this dinner is _for_ us, Owen?”

            “Well of course it is.” A light came into his eye. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it, Kel? You wrote it.”

            “I wrote what? Owen, if you don’t explain yourself very clearly right now, I shall feed you to Peachblossom.”

            “The King has published your report, Kel.” His enthusiasm returned full-bore. “You write beautifully, you know. My Lord had me post a copy on the general noticeboard. He says it’s being proclaimed in Corus and right along the border.”

            “Oh.” Kel felt hollow. She was impressed that the tactic she’d suggested had been put into effect so soon, but it hadn’t occurred to her that King Jonathan would not write his own version of events but simply publish hers. She swallowed.

            “Don’t you want to be a hero, Kel? Heroine, I mean.”

            “Not really.”

            “Too late.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.” He frowned. “Actually, you should be already because you’ve always been one. It’s the rest of us who ought to be surprised. And we are!”

            His logic baffled her and she looked at him warily. “You are?”

            “Yes. I mean, I knew we’d all done a good thing, and that was jolly. But I didn’t expect you’d say such nice things about us all, or that they’d be proclaimed like this. And you mentioned Happy! He’s famous too. I wanted to thank you for that.”

            She’d written her report hoping to protect her friends and cringed at the thought of Neal—and Dom—reading her praises of them. But her mind’s eye offered a vision of Lord Raoul laughingly calling her report a classic and she heard his bad-man’s voice observing to a dubious squire that reports were meant to be read, and you never did know what might be done with them. Uncertainly she smiled at Owen.

            “I just said what was true, you know.”

            “No you didn’t, Mother. You left out everything bad and polished up the good till we all gleamed like armour. The only person you didn’t mention besides the smugglers was yourself, but I think the King’s taken care of that because the whole thing’s headed, now let me get this right, _The report of Lady Knight Commander Keladry of Mindelan_ _on her successful mission to rescue Tortallan civilians and children abducted by the Scanran Kinslayer and to end the evil work of Maggur’s necromancer._ I think that’s it. And your signature’s at the bottom— _Keladry of Mindelan, Lady Knight Commander_. The casualty roll’s been posted too, just as you recorded it.”

            Appalled, she stalked across the parade ground to the offending noticeboard only to find Owen had been word perfect, though she saw with relief that her mention of Quinden’s idiocy had been deleted. Owen stood grinning when she finally turned from the absurd display, and a circle of solemn soldiers stood watching them both. Their clapping the other day had been for rescuing the children, but now the demand they represented was palpable and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t understand why they hungered for the success and safety she’d been made to represent. _Mama and Papa will read that report. And Anders, Inness, Conal._ Actually, that thought left her feeling rather warm. Meeting her sisters-in-law again would also find her with a new advantage: not many cows were heroines, after all; nor lumps. And if she was honest, once she’d had the chance to think about the astonishing things Wyldon had said about her command abilities, she’d been far more gratified then embarrassed. Suddenly confident, she raised an eyebrow at the soldiers.

            “You do realise that thing’s been polished like your parade kit? In the doing it was all mud and luck.”

            After some glances a grizzled veteran made himself spokesman. “We knows that, Lady Knight Commander sir. But you still got the littles back, and you got the mage what was killin’ us.”

            She found herself thinking rapidly and clearly. “Lady Kel’s fine, soldier, unless some stickler’s around. Lord Raoul trained me and I don’t stand on ceremony.” The lord of Goldenlake’s dislike of noble pomp was widely known and grins flickered. “But yes, we got the littles back, and by the gods’ grace we got the mage and the Kinslayer. A nightmare and his dog, sent where they belonged. But I’ll tell you something.”

            They leaned in, intent on her.

            “That mage was a pimply mouse of a man. He killed hundreds and hurt us all, but to me he was the Nothing Man. Stenmun Kinslayer was evil right through. He liked to have men skinned and stole children for gold, but he wasn’t a coward. The mage was and I’ve been hoping the Black God’s judges have been thinking about that. But what matters is that he was more an illusion than anything else.”

            The soldier frowned. “Them killin’ devices was real , Lady Kel.”           

            “Yes, they were. But though they scared the wits out of us all and could chop up anyone in range, one good crossbow-bolt in the dome and they were done. You can’t do that to a giant or the kraken. What I’m saying is their weapon was more their terror than their knives. When all’s said and done they were dead children who just wanted to stop hurting. And once you got through that, there was only a greasy fool with bad breath and spots who got his head cut off by a girl.”

            There was a second’s silence followed by a roar of laughter and when Kel walked straight at them they parted easily, grinning among themselves. Owen fell in behind, chortling admiringly and reminding her Master Numair wanted to talk before he peeled off for the command building and left Kel to make her way to the guest quarters. She found Numair reading, long legs stretched out and half-unpacked saddlebags piled on the bed. Seeing he was oblivious she rapped gently on the door.

            “You wanted to see me, Master Numair?”

            “Keladry, come in.” He folded away papers and stood, inspecting her gravely. “I heard you were wounded. How are you now?”

            “Much improved, thank you.”

            “Good. And my heartfelt thanks for killing Blayce. Jonathan described what he’d seen in your vision—that sounds so odd—and it was everything I’d feared. Gods! What a horror necromancy is. Please, sit.”

            When she had settled he regarded her curiously. “It’s the behaviour of the Chamber that has the King exercised, of course, and this girl Irnai. I must meet her, but for now would you just tell me, please, about everything you’ve experienced with that elemental. Oh, except your Ordeal, of course.”

            “Alright.” She hesitated, delaying. “I don’t really understand what elementals are.”

            He thought for a moment. “I think the best description is that they’re organised wild magic. But _how_ organised is … variable. Some are older than most gods and very complex beings indeed, like Chitral, who made the Dominion Jewel and chose to give it to Alanna. Others aren’t much more than emergent patterns.” He frowned. “I had believed our Chamber was somewhere in the middle but given what it’s been up to I begin to think it’s of the older, more complex kind. And plainly in contact with the Great Gods, as Chitral must have been, which complicates everything, always. But tell me your story, please.”

            Reluctantly she began. Despite knowing they’d been only nightmare visions she found it shockingly hard to expose the deep fears the Chamber always found to trade on, but she trusted Master Numair and tried conscientiously to include all her experiences of touching the chamber-door. He was interested in the first occasion she’d thought it had spoken to her, breathing amusement at her repeated self-testing, and seemed especially struck by her haunting experience after Joren’s trial, and how the Chamber had worked her feelings about Lalasa’s legal vulnerability into a scenario whose terror was as much political as visceral. She ended with her repeated dreams of Blayce’s workshop and what she’d seen and heard at Rathhausak, including the Chamber’s grumpiness over her dislike of the name it had given her and her belief it had been teasing her in choosing where it stopped its spectacular display during her debriefing. Numair grinned.

            “You’re probably right. Alanna certainly thinks Chitral has a warped sense of humour. I tend to find that more reassuring than upsetting, though many wouldn’t. Still, that’s some story of yours.” He pondered. “Do other squires touch its door as you did?”

            “I always thought so. There was a lot of joshing among pages about the tradition that says it’s bad luck if _they_ do, and what I thought was an unspoken expectation that once one became a squire, one should. But when I told Neal he said I was mad and no-one else did.”

            “Mmm. So probably some do, but if the experiences are typically as they were for you, deep fears forcibly played out, those people would not say anything much afterwards.”

            She nodded, pleased that he understood. “That’s what I decided. It must be the same sort of thing for everyone—friends and family being killed, being helpless to stop it—and I certainly didn’t want to talk about it to anyone.”

            “I’m sure you didn’t. But it sounds as if your, um, persistence is unusual and the Chamber did, perhaps as a result, take special notice. So I’m afraid I must ask _why_ you kept having it subject you to nightmares?”

            She stared at him, then shrugged. “Don’t you want to have a feel for a mage you’re going to have to fight?”

            “Fair enough. Was it only that?”

            “Well, no.” She thought about it, and amid new things crowding her head realised something. “You have to understand, Master Numair, I faced a _lot_ of disapproval. Even before I started as a page, in my own family, harsh things were said. Once I was at the palace there was Lord Wyldon’s probation and open dislike, as well as Joren and his gang. And when we started serving at banquets there were court ladies, and guests who refused to have me serve them, or sniffed and said I should be ashamed of myself, not for doing anything wrong but just because I was a girl.” The memories were vivid. “The only thing I had to set against all that was that the Chamber alone bestows knighthood and it passed women until a century back, as well as Sir Alanna.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to touch the door as soon as I became a page but I knew of the tradition from my brothers and respected it. But once I was a squire nothing would have stopped me. If the Chamber thought I wasn’t worthy I had to know.”

            The mage was regarding her with a compassionate look that made her want to cry, and she stilled herself.

            “That makes good sense, Keladry. And I’m sorry you had such a miserable time with bigots. Believe me, I understand that.” Thin fingers tapped. “But it’s clear the Chamber chose you for exactly the reasons you’ve done so astoundingly well. The problem is that it’s still not clear _when_ it chose you and Jon seems to feel he needs to know.”

            “Then why doesn’t he ask?”

            “Eh? Ask what?”

            “The Chamber.” Numair gaped and a thought crystallised. “I just realised that when I was reporting to him and the others, they thought re-entering the Chamber was like undergoing another Ordeal. When it spoke through Irnai they all went white, as if they were being tested.”

            Numair had caught up and was nodding. “Because they’ve only ever had contact with the elemental during their Ordeals.”

            “Yes. But _talking_ to it isn’t like that at all and its whole purpose is to serve Tortall. If the King’s truly worried about what it’s doing I can’t believe it wouldn’t speak to him about it. And there’d be no point in it giving him another Ordeal anyway—he passed its test years ago. So he should just go inside it and ask.”

            Slowly Numair smiled. “I shall tell him so, Keladry. His reply should be entertaining. And perhaps I’ll ask it myself about Shakith.”

            “And Lord Gainel, it said.”

            He grinned. “Yes, but I’ve met Gainel myself at my in-laws’.” Kel was well repaid for leaving him nonplussed a minute before and he chuckled at her expression. “I know. I still don’t always believe it myself but it comes with my Godborn magelet, bless her. She should be here tomorrow, by the way.”

            “So Owen said. I was hoping to see her. She’s always been so kind to me.” Numair beamed. She wondered if Owen shouldn’t have mentioned it, but curiosity won. “Is she really negotiating with a spidren?”

            He didn’t seem surprised she knew and nodded. “She is. It contacted her father at Samradh, when the barriers are thin, and he sent the Badger to convey its message.” Kel looked a query. “The male badger god. He’s a friend of Daine’s and Weiryn’s.”

            “Oh.” She blinked away surprise at how intimate he seemed with all manner of gods. “I meant, what was the message?”

            “So far as we can tell, that it wants to make a treaty, as we do with other immortals, and have someplace safe to live. Otherwise we know only that its name is Quenuresh, that it leads a small family group and must be a mage of some degree, and that Weiryn says it’s very old for its kind, though as it’s an immortal what that means is itself a mystery.”

            “There are spidren _mages_?” Kel was horrified.

            “A few. Their webs are intrinsically magical and that’s usually it, thank Mithros, but not always.”

            “Are you worried it’s a trap?”

            He shook his head. “No more than usual. Daine can defend herself against most things, she has an army escort, and the Badger promised to be there. It’s more than she often has.” He sighed and stood, bringing Kel to her feet. “Can you take me to meet Irnai now?”

            “Of course.”

            Passing her own room Kel stopped in to leave Orchan of Eridui, and found Tobe feeding sparrows. On his advice she and Master Numair then headed for the cookhouse, where as promised Irnai was helping to peel vegetables and listening to cooks’ gossip. Besides the innate attraction of food for a child who’d gone hungry for months, Kel had noticed on their journey that Irnai sought out mundane tasks, and thought it was probably a combination of repeatedly having to win acceptance from strangers and needing something more regular in her life than splinters of divine vision. She cheerfully came and sat with them at an empty table, holding Kel’s hand and answering questions straightforwardly, but to Kel’s mind there was nothing useful they didn’t already know. The only surprising thing was that while Irnai remembered all the Chamber had said, and even with eyes closed had seen the visions it projected through her, she had no memory of the words she’d spoken as Shakith gripped her and refused to hear what they were.

            “The god told me if I don’t remember what I’ve said it’s best I don’t know. It won’t affect me, and it’s for others to worry about.”

            Accepting this, Numair asked a few more questions about reactions to her prophecies, and let her return to the vegetables. Back outside he complimented Kel warmly on her care of the girl and all the children, before remarking with a frown that the stronger seers were the harder it was to tell anything, but he thought Irnai’s connection with Shakith unusually direct and suspected the goddess was actually trying to be helpful, which might or might not be a good thing. By the end his voice had sunk to a murmur and abruptly bidding Kel farewell until the feast in her honour he stalked off, still muttering. Kel was left to contemplate the further embarrassment in store and the need to dress for it.

            In the event it wasn’t as nerve-racking as she’d feared. She had no gown (and wasn’t sure, after Haven’s destruction, what if any clothes she had left) so a thorough wash and clean tunic had to serve. To her pleasure Fanche and Saefas were seated at the high table too, with a beaming Tobe; the messhall below was packed to the rafters with refugees, including children and Scanran villagers, as well as hundreds of soldiers. Seaver’s boar proved tender, the vegetables fresh, and the sweets an indulgence leaving her delightfully sated. The only bad moment came when Wyldon ended his remarks following the royal toast by proposing a further toast to their collective valour and she realised she was expected to reply—but even that proved easier than her first address at Haven as commander, and once on her feet she knew what she wanted to say. Carefully smoothing her Mindelan tunic she let her gaze circle, collecting fierce attention.

            “My Lord of Cavall is right to say all of us singled out for honour here depended on one another, and I would express my deep gratitude to my friends, and to Sergeants Domitan and Connac and all the soldiers with us, without whom none of it would have been possible. But we all depended also on the men and women of Haven, who did much to rescue themselves, on the villagers of Rathhausak, and in full measure on the children, who endured without complaint more than anyone should ever have to suffer, and showed the greatest courage you can imagine. There were others I cannot name, too, who helped along our way. So my first toast is to _all_ who helped, not just we who are praised.”

            They drank, cheering, and when she remained standing quieted.

            “And there are our dead, at Haven and beyond.” The mood sobered. “I think of the captive adults who did all they could to slow the enemy’s progress and paid with their lives. Of our comrades and animals who fell at Rathhausak, giving their lives that others might live. And of the many children and adults who died at Blayce’s hands, given by their liegelord to a human monster. So in the names of Lord Mithros, and the Goddess, and the Black God, I give you our dead, in honoured memory.” She gestured and they stood. “May our lives be worthy of them, in winning this war and in the peace to follow.”

            “So mote it be.”

            The unison was thunderous, and she sat to murmurs of approval from her friends and a look from Wyldon that made her feel distinctly strange. Since their peculiar conversation they’d met only in public and their boundaries of friendship remained uncertain, but Kel had found a happiness she couldn’t recall growing in her as she absorbed the fact of his admiration for her as knight and commander. As the weight of his disapproval had haunted her training, so the glow of his regard warmed her as she struggled to come to terms with success and burgeoning fame. It was a vast improvement. Aided by the glass of wine she had to drink with the toasts she slept that night more deeply and dreamlessly than at any time since her Ordeal and first vision of pimpled slaughter.

 

* * * * *

 

Two days later a beautiful June morning found Kel riding a lively Peachblossom on the familiar courier track towards Haven, Jump in his carry-box and sparrows flitting to-and-fro. Numair rode behind her on the long-suffering Spots, as badly as ever, with Daine on a borrowed horse and behind them the young but assured leader of the western building team, sent from Steadfast to advise. More surprisingly, Daine had Kitten with her, the dragonet having become so bored with her parents’ repeated absence from Corus, and so advanced in magic for her age, that Daine felt it riskier to leave her behind than to expose her to hazard in the north. She perched on Daine’s horse’s withers, peering alertly and occasionally trilling excitement. Soldiers had point and rearguard and a screen surrounded them, but the mages were their defence should they meet any genuine force that had escaped detection.

            Starting at dawn and riding hard despite Numair’s complaints they came by late morning to the last ridge before the Greenwoods valley. Here towards its southern end the western hills were rounded and well wooded, criss-crossed with animal trails. The track bent sharply before curling into a gulley and running through trees down to the river, which it accompanied north to Haven; approaching that bend Kel pulled up.

            “If no-one objects I’d like to get a view over the whole valley before anything else.”

            No-one did and the building officer, Geraint of Legann, nodded approval. After letting horses breathe and scouts re-orient themselves Kel led them onto a deertrack angling up the hill. Steady climbing and a scramble where the slope steepened brought them to the crown of the hill, where they dismounted. Then she led them cautiously through the trees, sparrows scouting ahead, and after a few minutes came to the position she remembered, above crags with the sunlit valley spread out below them. As the others emerged from the trees to stand beside her, exclaiming at the view, Kel folded herself to sit cross-legged, back against warm tree-bark and one hand absently tugging Jump’s ears in the way he loved. Daine sat beside her, Kitten scrambling into her lap, and the others followed suit, Master Numair letting long legs dangle over the crags and Geraint producing a notebook in which he began to sketch.

            To their left the broadening valley descended north-east towards the distant Vassa, until the Greenwoods bent north to skirt intruding, higher hills beyond which lay Tirrsmont, the ruins of Goatstrack, and ill-fated Giantkiller. About three miles from their lookout the blackened rectangle of Haven perched on its artificial knoll above the river, bare flagpole and air of desertion a stark reminder of why they were here. Surrounding it was the best cropland, in the rich valley bottom and on the lower slopes; more good growing and grazing lay immediately below, limited by sheer cliffs on the eastern side, culminating in an outlying root the Grimhold Mountains thrust through the lower hills.

             It was this Kel had really wanted to see, and after a general survey though the splendid spyglass Alanna had given her she settled to a careful quartering of the ground. Why the limestone steepened so much on the east she had no idea, but the great fin of darker rock that all but cut off the southernmost third of the valley was another matter altogether. It ended well out on the valley floor in a ragged cliff thirty foot high, leaving a half-mile of open ground bisected by the river foaming down a stretch of rapids, but where the fin cut the eastern cliffs, themselves rising more than four hundred feet, it towered above them. Compared to its base and even to the limestone cliffs, which for nearly a mile to the north rose like a wall from the rich soil, the slope up to the angle of fin and cliffs seemed oddly shallow—because, as Kel half-remembered and her spyglass confirmed, it was filled with an immense screepile. Straggling shrubs made it hard to be sure but she thought the loose stone extended onto the valley floor for a hundred-and-fifty yards or more, and rose at least two hundred feet before tapering to meet the intersecting cliffs. A wide, ragged chimney in the paler limestone and a deep notch in the clifftop above showed where the debris had come from. More importantly, denser vegetation with damp ground below told of a spring beneath the scree and from this height Kel could see a line of greener growth tracing a course towards the Greenwoods. Thoughtfully she let the spyglass drop from her eye and took in the wider view again, letting her hand drift back to Jump’s head.

            _May I look though it, please?_

            Startled, she turned her head to meet Kitten’s slit-pupilled eyes. Behind the dragonet Daine seemed amused.

            “Did she talk to you? I expect she wants to use the spyglass.”

            Swallowing surprise, Kel offered Kitten the brass tube. “Of course you can, ah—”

            _Skysong is my true name, but I don’t mind if you call me Kitten, as Mama does._

            “Skysong. Right, I knew that. I’m sorry I forgot. Please be careful with the glass.”

            _I will. Thank you. What should I call you?_

            “Um, Keladry. Or Kel’s fine.”

            _Thank you, Kel._

            The dragonet set the spyglass gently to her eye, whistling pleasure, and seeing that she clearly knew how to twist the eyepiece to focus Kel let her eyes meet Daine’s, alight with laughter.

            “When did this happen? She couldn’t talk before, could she?”

            “Well, she could, actually, but not to us two-leggers. She was too young, so far as we knew, to mindspeak between the kinds as adult dragons do, and fair frustrating we all found it.” The Wildmage grinned at the memory. “But when we were in Carthak for Kalassin’s wedding she found Kawit, who gave her one of her scales to eat, and Kit’s been chattering non-stop ever since, making up for lost time. She still finds it hard to speak to more than one two-legger at once, though, so others won’t necessarily hear what you do. It can make conversations a bit awkward.” A chirp told them the dragonet was listening and Daine reached to stroke her flank. “I know, Kit, but you’re doing very well.” Her smoky blue-grey eyes came back to Kel’s. “She’s cautious with strangers, having discovered the hard way that not everyone likes a talking and very inquisitive dragon, so she must trust you.”

            “Oh.” Kel felt absurdly pleased. “Perhaps she remembers me from the palace. I did meet her once, when I first brought you Jump.” Hearing his name the dog thumped his tail.

            _Yes, I remember. You knelt to greet me. I always remember kindness._ Kitten took the spyglass from her eye and swivelled her snout to look up at Kel. _What were you looking at so carefully?_

            “I was wondering if we might be able to use the angle of the cliffs and that great fin. It would mean we’d only have two walls to defend.”

            _The fallen rocks are in the way._

            “They could be moved.” Kel shrugged. “I don’t really know what’s possible, but I’ve seen Master Numair shift tons of boulders at once, and I was wondering what’s _under_ those rocks. Do you see the greener vegetation leading to the river? There’s a spring in there, and above the scree the cliffs rise sheer, so perhaps they’re like that right along.”

            Kitten chirped and took up the spyglass, peering at screeslope and the cliffs to either side before again looking at Kel.

            _The black cliff is very strong rock, so that is probably right._ She sounded thoughtful. _There is a dragonspell that would tell me what is hidden under the fall, but I could not cast it powerfully enough for a pile of rocks that big._

            Daine heard this and looked at Kitten consideringly. “You’re always good with rocks, Kit. Numair might be able to boost you. Tell him about the spell you mean?”

            With a cluck of agreement the dragonet carefully handed the spyglass back to Kel and trotted over to Numair, whistling and tugging at his sleeve. He listened carefully before glancing across at Kel.

            “She says you want to know what’s under all that scree?”

            Kel nodded. “I wondered if the cliffs were sheer all the way down, Master Numair. I may be dreaming the impossible, but if they are, and that scree pile could be shifted forward and levelled out …”

            “Mmm.” His eyes lost focus for a minute. “There’s no problem moving the rocks, but I don’t think they’d be stable enough to build on.”

            “Can we look anyway? I realise you could raise another knoll, as before, but I want to keep as much good land as possible for planting. So do the refugees. We need all the food we can grow. And if we were backed against the cliffs we’d only have two sides to defend.”

            Beyond Numair Geraint nodded. “I like your thinking, my Lady, but Master Numair is right. Loose scree like that can be used as filler, or for a glacis, say, but it won’t take post-holes or foundations.”

            Kitten again tugged at Numair’s sleeve, and a look of surprise crossed his face.

            “That’s true, Kit. Good thinking.” He glanced at Geraint, then looked round at Kel. “She reminds me basilisks can do all sorts of things with stone—it’s their native element—and as it happens Tkaa isn’t far away.”

            “He isn’t?” The basilisk courtier-diplomat had taught Kel as a page, and if having a seven-foot-tall beaded lizard as a teacher had been unnerving at first she’d grown very fond of him. His lessons about the many kinds of immortal had always been interesting and often valuable, but she’d loved his complete indifference to her gender.

            “He’s visiting a basilisk mother-and-son living south of here, near Wolfwood, who’ve been finding some locals suspicious and hostile.”

            “Oh.” She felt a pang for the unknown mother-and-son—or perhaps not unknown. “I might have met those basilisks, once, when I was riding with the Own. Did they use to live in the Royal Forest?”

            “Yes, that’s them. They’ve been all over northern Tortall since then. The mother’s St’aara and her son is Amiir’aan.” Kitten chirped what sounded like a correction and Numair smiled. “Of course Kitten can pronounce their full names properly and delights in doing so at great length, but even knowing Old Thak I can never get the gutturals of the spoken form right, so I stick to the short versions.” He pulled himself back from the crag edge and stood. “I’ve no idea if your idea is practical, Keladry, but we can certainly look.”

            It didn’t take them long to descend back to the courier trail and canter down to the valley floor. A mile below the rapids the river shallowed and broadened as it ran over a shelf of rock covered in sand, making a perfect ford. From his snorts Kel knew Peachblossom was enjoying the rush of cool mountain water against cannonbones and knees, and the valley looked beautiful in the sunlight, but the shell of Haven to the north prevented her relaxing. Reaching the further bank she let Peachblossom stretch his legs in a brief gallop that brought her to the foot of the scree, and dismounted.

            Before trying any spellwork they broke out food and Geraint built a small fire, setting water to boil. The Mastiff cooks had provided rolls, cheese, and cold meat, and despite dark Haven in the distance Kel felt her spirits rise. She pulled herself onto a small boulder at the edge of the scree, looking down-valley and letting legs dangle while she shared a roll with the sparrows and meat with Jump. This would be a good corner of the valley to dwell if her strange idea worked out; the towering fin would limit direct light, especially when the northern sun made only winter arches, but now, Samradh a week past, the shadow was pleasantly cool and the Greenwoods sparkled.

            Bringing a cup of strong soldiers’ tea Geraint sat beside her, smiling when a sparrow landed on his shoulder. His voice was soft.

            “Lady Knight, wherever we build we’re going to need to use as much timber from Haven as we can. I’m sorry.” She nodded bleakly, having known the remains of her first command would have to be dismantled. “With your permission I’ll take a couple of men and survey it. The fire-damage doesn’t look as bad as I’d feared.”

            There was a question in his voice and Kel nodded again, eyes on Haven. “Master Numair had strong fire-protections on everything except the infirmary. And the Scanrans wanted to capture, not kill.” She shifted to face him, drawing one leg up. “Master Geraint, the dead who fell there are buried in a mass-grave by the flagpole. There was no time for more, and I will not move them. Rather, we will make Haven our burial-ground. I know we need the timber, but please make sure everyone knows to respect that ground.”

            “Of course, my Lady. We will honour them.”

            A thought struck her forcibly. “I don’t know what if anything survived inside any of the barracks—not much, from what I saw—but though the headquarters building was ransacked it wasn’t torched in the same way.” She flushed slightly. “My own room was there …”

            “And you need your things. I understand, my Lady.”

            “Most of it can wait, Geraint, but I am going to need some clothing. Perhaps I should come with you.”

            “Please don’t. I can get what’s needed and it won’t affect me the same way.” Gently dislodging the sparrow he slid to his feet, turned, and to her surprise offered a salute. “Permission to go, my Lady?”

            “Yes, carry on, Geraint. You’ll have a good view from the knoll, so make sure someone keeps watch and has a horn.”

            “Right.”

            He walked off, calling soldiers, and Kel slid off the boulder, looking round. Kitten had scrambled almost to the top of the scree pile, followed more cautiously by Master Numair, obviously concerned about its stability; black fire glittered at his fingertips in case he found the ground moving under his feet. As Kel gazed at them Daine came to stand beside her.

            “If Kitten’s going to do what I think this might be very pretty.”

            “Pretty?” Kel quirked an eyebrow. “What happens?”

            “The rocks light up. She learned the basic spell years ago, when we first met Tkaa in Dunlath, and she’s always loved it.” A smile warmed her face. “At the siege of Port Legann she was showing off to Diamondflame and made the battlement light up, all in different colours. It’s—what’s that word Numair uses—all up and down, like rotten teeth.” Her hand traced a pattern in the air.

            “Crenellated?”

            “That’s the one. Kitten made the teeth-bits light up. The ones that stick up.”

            “Merlons.”

            “If you say so.” She grinned. “It was fair wonderful, but Lord Imrah was already having to walk round an invisible eighty-foot dragon on his keep roof and I don’t think he wanted colourful merlons just then.”

            Kel’s smile tipped into a laugh. She suspected she might have shared Lord Imrah’s misgivings, but still. “An _eighty-foot_ dragon?”

            “About that.” Daine’s glance was amused. “Diamondflame’s the strongest dragon, magically, but not the biggest. At the Dragonmeet there was one at least one-hundred-and-twenty feet, nose to rump.”

            Kel stared. “You went to a dragonmeet?”

            “ _The_ Dragonmeet.” Daine’s eyes were on Numair and Kitten, crouched in conference. “It’s a … well, legal body, I suppose, like a court. Someone didn’t like mortals in the Dragonlands and tried to get us kicked out but Diamondflame and Rainbow put a stop to that.” Her voice was absent. “Here we go.”

            Kel swallowed curiosity and looked up. Balancing carefully on a boulder thirty feet below the top of the scree, Numair hoisted Kitten to stand on his shoulders, one long arm reaching up to rest on the back of her head, where black-and-silver magic sparkled as Kitten gave a piercing whistle. As Daine had predicted the scree above them blazed in response and Kitten chortled. She whistled again, a lower note, and the dark rock of the fin glowed a strange blue; a third note made the limestone cliffs glow a lighter greeny-blue that reminded Kel of water. Then mage and dragonet began a more systematic lightshow, probing the scree and slowly descending in sweeps, colours flaring before them.

            Tearing her eyes away Kel saw the soldiers who hadn’t gone with Geraint edging back, faces strained. Even Jump and the horses were keeping their distance, though sparrows fluttered about the scree, peeping excitedly. She considered offering the soldiers a reassuring word, but it would make no difference to their fear of the black-robe mage. She’d seen it in poor Einur the cook at Haven, and even in the Riders and Own, where Daine was always welcome, Master Numair was treated with wary caution. The man had, after all, once turned an enemy mage into a tree—a story she’d barely believed when Neal first told it, but had since heard confirmed though she’d never seen the tree itself, somewhere at Dunlath. That name sparked an idea but before she could pursue it she realised that even in her mind she always called Master Numair by his title, though she thought of the Godborn Wildmage at her side just as Daine. Wasn’t that her own way of keeping him at a safe distance, even after all he’d done for Haven? And he always called her Keladry, never the diminutive. A resolution formed.

            “Daine, why does Numair never call me Kel?”

            Daine glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You always call him by his title. Etiquette bores him but he likes you so he offers respect. Why?”

            “I’ve had cause to think about things like that recently. But I just realised I always call him ‘Master Numair’ for the same reason those soldiers are looking so wary. It’s not fair on him.”

            The Wildmage’s smile was warm. “No, it isn’t. He’s philosophical about it and says he can’t expect anything else. But I remember at the siege of Pirate’s Swoop, when I’d just come to Tortall, how the stable-hands and servants who’d seemed to like me went all stiff-legged after I healed Kit’s ma and summoned the Kraken, though it saved us all. It still happens, if villagers see me change.” She shrugged. “I don’t blame them but it’s hard.” Smokey eyes gave Kel a shrewd look. “Are you finding the same, as Protector of the Small?”

            “You’ve heard that silly name?”

            “Kel, everyone’s heard it, up here anyway, and I don’t suppose Corus missed out.” Daine grinned. “I’d get used to it. And anyway, it suits you.”

            “So the King said.” Kel knew she sounded grumpy, and Daine grinned again. “But no, it’s not really the same. The men aren’t afraid of me, and they know I haven’t a drop of magic. But they look at me differently and I can feel the weight of expectation, as if I’m going to do something extraordinary any moment.”

            “Yes, that’s it.” Daine’s eyes were back on Numair and Kitten, working round the dampness by the limestone cliff. “As if I might suddenly turn wolf just to scare them. One reason I like Dunlath is no-one much cares anymore what I do. They see ogres and wolves and eagles in the castle whenever Maura’s Council meets so what’s a shapeshifter more or less?”

            Kel’s elusive thought returned and she grabbed it, exploring it as it unfolded. A dozen ideas popped into her head, some making her wonder if she were mad after all, but Numair was now climbing back down towards them, Kitten still riding his shoulders.

            “Daine, there’s no time now but when we’ve a chance there’s something complicated I want to ask you.”

            Daine looked at her curiously. “About what?”

            “Dunlath, sort of.”

            “Alright.”

            Numair came off the scree, face sheened with sweat, and swung Kitten down. Sparrows fluttered before perching where they could.

            “There you are, monster. Happy now?”

            Kit chortled, hugging Numair’s leg, then chirped at Daine, who smiled. “He spoils you rotten, Kit. You could perfectly well have climbed down yourself. But yes, that was all very pretty and I do think your grandsire would be impressed. The sparrows certainly were and say thank you. What did you learn? Can you tell Kel at the same time?”

            _I can._ There was a strain in the dragonet’s happy mindvoice, but it was clear. _The rocks are tightly packed and there are lots of them but I felt the cliffs behind. Both drop straight down to the ground, and in the white rock, where it meets the black rock, there is a cave. It is partly filled with rocks that have tumbled in, but I think it is big. And the water all comes from one place in the white rock, about forty feet above the ground. The flow is quite strong but much seeps straight down and disappears again. Only what the rocks divert forms the underground flow you saw from the crags where we stopped._

Kel’s fist clenched. “Excellent. Thank you, Skysong, that’s very helpful. I don’t know about your grandsire, never having met him, but _I’m_ impressed.”

            Kitten preened and Kel grabbed a stick and scuffed some ground clear. They leaned in to see as she squatted and drew crude lines to represent limestone and fin, then two enclosing walls.

            “I’m no artist, but what I’m thinking is that we move all the scree, so the base of the angle is clear, and pile it up further out.” She switched to a profile view, dragging the stick quickly through the soft dirt. “So around the base and this cavemouth you’d have a space at ground level, then a slope up to a much bigger level area. I’m not sure how high that slope could be, but I’ve tried to calculate the volume of this scree-pile, and my first guess is thirty feet or so. That would be the main level, with the barracks, stables, infirmary and so on. And around that, a raised rim, as sheer as you can make it outside. I’m guessing again, but I think if we did it like that, and you can magically revet it so it’s stable, we might be able to get an outside face of fifty foot, all hard climbing at best—and there’d be the palisade on top of that. Plus from what Kitten says about that spring, we could have an internal water-source and channel what we don’t need along the cliff to the outer wall, down, and back along below it before heading for the river.” She looked up at them triumphantly. “A moat, then a fifty-foot scramble with traps and obstacles, and then fifteen- and thirty-foot double walls enclosing a killing field. Let the Scanrans try to climb that.”

            Kitten chortled, nodding, and Daine smiled, but Numair had a bemused look.

            “You don’t think small, do you, Keladry? You’re describing a better fortress than Northwatch.”

            “Just Kel, please.” She stood, dusting her hands as he gave her a sharp look. “And no, not any more. I realise it’s not being made public, but you know what Irnai prophesied, so I’m expecting to have to defend whatever we build here. Mithros knows against what sort of force, but I have to assume the worst. So I’d want a gatehouse _there_ ”—she pointed with her foot—“hard against the fin, and the _only_ approach a road sloping up across the west face of the glacis, right under the walls.”

            She looked Numair in the eye. “You have to understand that while Wyldon’s giving me a regular company as well as the squads from Haven, I’ll still be relying on refugees to man the walls. Giantkiller will screen us, but if Maggur puts together a real force—and he’s been dealing in armies of several thousand this year—he can besiege Giantkiller and Mastiff with five hundred men apiece and send everything else at us. And if that happens there will be no way I can fight them in the field, whatever Wyldon thinks. So I shall have to fort up and defy them, for however long it takes for relief to arrive, which might be a week or more. And that means that to stand any chance I have to repel repeated assaults, and bleed the enemy hard. I’m sorry to be blunt, but that’s the logic. And I’m not letting my people be hung out to dry again.”

            She gestured towards the shell of Haven, noticing as she did so distant figures—Geraint and soldiers—trotting back towards them.

            “You know it. All those refugees, all those _children_ , left in harm’s way while lords bickered, and harm came calling. And here we are again, facing exactly the same problem, for all that Blayce is dead. So I want a fort that cannot fall while its defenders stay true.”

            Numair nodded sharply. “Right on all counts. I spoke again to Jonathan about these risks but he can’t overrule the lords on their own lands without risking real trouble for the realm.” He sighed. “It depends on stabilising the scree, Kel.” She noted she hadn’t had to ask him twice. “Harailt and I can move and shape it, but fixing it to give the kind of slopes you want and support those walls and buildings for, what? a thousand people or more—that’s another matter.”

            _But Tkaa can make any stones stick together._

            Numair frowned. “Using heat, you mean, Kit?”

            _No, they just stuck. And if you packed the stones with mud he could use the rock-spell. Would that not hold everything together?_

            “The rock-spell? What’s that?”

            Numair’s eyes were losing focus and Daine answered Kel’s question.

            “It turns things to stone—a basilisk’s main hunting and defence spell.” Her voice was wry. “Sounds like an avalanche with a lot of shrieking thrown in, but it works. Tkaa used it to save me from a coldfang once, and against attacking hurroks at Port Legann.”

            “Oh.” Kel thought furiously. “Is it a blasting spell, or can it be used … I don’t know, more delicately?”

            “Surely. Last time I met St’aara she said she’d had some luck turning wooden bowls and jars into stone, for villagers over by the Drell somewhere who’d lost their stonecarver. What are you thinking?”

            “I’m not sure.” But her visions now included fireproof roofs, and neither the palisades above a formidable glacis nor the spikes lining pits below magetraps were still made of vulnerable wood.

            Numair’s focus returned. “I don’t know if Kitten’s right, but I can contact Tkaa tonight and ask what’s possible.” He smiled with a certain grimness. “I don’t think it’s what the army had in mind, nor yet Jonathan, but it makes sense to me, Kel, and we’ll do our best.”

            “Thank you, Numair.” She met his eyes again. “For everything.” She let her gaze drop to Kitten and remembering the dragonet’s words went to one knee. “Thank you too, Skysong. You’ve been a well of ideas today. If it all works out we should give you the freedom of—well, I don’t know what we’re going to call it. New Haven, maybe. Or New Hope.”

            The dragonet went pink. _I like New Hope. That is always good._

            “It is. The refugees have a say but I think they’ll like it too.”

            Kitten chirped agreement and behind her Kel heard Geraint arrive. Rising, she steeled herself to hear his assessment of what could be salvaged from Haven. It would always be a nightmare memory but her raw determination to prevent another such fall had become laced with optimism. The implications of Irnai’s prophecy frightened her badly, but if New Hope could shelter behind the walls she envisaged it would not be her people with whom stormwings would play. Let whoever brought the war to them pay that price.

 

* * * * *

 

Wyldon took some convincing that Kel’s idea was feasible, but Geraint had been willing, if bemused, and after talking to Tkaa Numair was firm there was a good enough chance to warrant trying.

            “Both basilisks say sticking loose stone is simple,” he reported, “and they can make the bond as strong as they want. Tkaa’s intrigued, I think. St’aara said she’d offered help with stonework before, trying to earn a place to stay, but villagers have always been too frightened and quarrymen hostile. This could be an opportunity in more ways than one.”

            Wyldon didn’t seem much happier but Kel was definite on that point. On their ride back to Mastiff she’d been able to ask Daine about Dunlath, and how agreement had been reached with ogres to live peacefully with people and animals. War had taught Kel vividly how much trouble a single giant could make on a battlefield, how deadly centaurs were with arrows and how profoundly intimidating adult griffins, and that most immortals who made treaties kept them honourably. But she also knew that though the army made no provision to house or feed them, some of those living under treaty had been displaced by the war, while others had found nowhere to settle or preferred wandering. And if the most the realm could find to defend her refugees was a scant company of men she needed to make whatever allies she could.

            That was the point she made to Wyldon, less bluntly and with subtle stress on the genuine difficulties in staffing she knew he faced—winning a wry nod. To Daine on the trail she’d emphasised her determination to be honest with all comers, telling them frankly she expected New Hope to have to fight against hard odds before the war was done but also her belief that if immortals would try to fit in, she thought they could .

            “We’ve an advantage in that everyone’s a refugee and used to getting along with whoever’s there. We’ve also been shown the hard way what can happen in war, how vulnerable we are. We’re taking Scanrans from Rathhausak and if anyone’s objected Fanche and Saefas have set them right so fast I’ve not heard of it. The Haven refugees have actually been helping them get acquainted with the dogs and cats and birds you magicked before, though a couple of the older ones still mutter about _wine besten duguth_ being unnatural.”

            Daine had laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard that from other Scanrans. ‘Friendly animal retainers’, I suppose you’d say. But they don’t mind the People’s help when they need it.”

            “No. And the Rathhausakers are used to Zerhalm. He’s got animal healing magic, thank the Goddess, or we’d have lost that marmalade cat who was so helpful.” She told Daine about the cat’s bravery and concussion fighting Stenmun. “She’s taken up residence with Fanche and Saefas since Dom left, and behaves like a queen, of course. Well, how you’d think a queen would behave, not like Thayet.” Daine had laughed at that. “But getting back to the point, though frankly I don’t like this side of it at all, with Irnai’s tale circulating and the idea the gods were with us against death magic, they’ve also got the idea we have a special blessing. And like it or not, I can use that if anyone objects to a basilisk or an ogre. I’ve also been wondering about that griffin kit, and if his parents might be willing to take up residence.”

            Then she’d taken a deep breath and made an offer she hoped she wouldn’t regret. “I’m not sure about that spidren, Quenuresh, and her kin, though. I’m sorry, Daine—I don’t know if _I_ could stick a spidren at close quarters. I’ve fought them so often and seen what they do to people they capture. But there’s a patch of dense old woodland north of Haven, that spidrens have used before, and if you’re sure Quenuresh means what she says and will honour a treaty, I think we could co-exist. For me it’s enough if they’ll leave people alone and defend their territory against any hostiles.” Her fighting brain prompted an addition. “And if they want more, I don’t mind trading though I’m not sure what. Meat for webbing, or whatever Quenuresh’s magecraft lets her do.”

            Daine had ridden in silence for a while. Kel suspected she was talking to Kitten, who’d listened carefully and was now twisted round to look at Daine, but if so their conversation was strictly between themselves until the Wildmage suddenly nodded and looked at her.

            “Alright, Kel, I’ll try. There’s not a lot of people I’d trust to say they’ll protect peaceful immortals against upset two-leggers and actually deliver, but you’re surely one. Kit thinks so too. And I’ve been feeling wretched about immortal refugees. Maggur probably makes the same offer to ogres and centaurs he makes to giants, but giants _like_ fighting. Most ogres in the mortal realms don’t. They’re miners or farmers, and you need both. And male centaurs just want to pasture their herds in peace and do well enough to keep females happy, so I think some will consider it. The griffins might too. They’re not big on gratitude but they know they owe you a lot more than that sack of feathers, and the Vassa has big enough fish to interest them. I’m also grateful for the offer about Quenuresh. I think she’s sincere, and she said several times she knew it’d be hard to win mortals’ trust but she was sick of running and hiding and having no choice but to kill to defend herself and her kin.”

            She’d smiled wryly.

            “It’s odd, you know. They’re immortals right enough, but most spidrens die young. They probably breed and grow the fastest of any immortal, but the fight for food means the younglings kill one another as often as not, and those who do make it to adulthood end up taking too many risks and getting killed anyway. Quenuresh came north in the hope of finding space and avoiding contact with two-leggers, but ran into the war and wasn’t sure what to do. Then going south again she happened to skirt Dunlath, met an ogre who explained their treaty and how I’d been able to establish it, and came up with the idea of contacting my Da.”

            _He was very surprised._ Kitten’s chortle had been rich and Daine had laughed, patting the dragonet.

            “Yes, he was. So was I, come to that. But none of us could think of anywhere except Dunlath where it might work and Brokefang wouldn’t like it—he’s getting grumpier with age every time I see him. So your offer’s very welcome, and I’ll spread word as widely as I can among friendly immortals. The Badger’ll help too.”

            That had led to explanations of how Daine came to know a Badger god that left Kel wondering why anyone thought _her_ adventures strange, but to her surprise it was that detail that convinced Wyldon to support the whole thing. He had, he said dryly, had occasion to see the Badger in action before, delivering darkings to Thayet during the Immortals War, and in any case knew better than to argue with a god of any stripe. So calculations had been made, messages sent, and plans laid, and three days after she’d got back to Mastiff Kel led out a large column, with Harailt to help Numair, Daine and Kitten, and the western building team as well as a regular company to provide guards and commissariat. To Neal’s disappointment he and the other knights had to fill gaps left in Mastiff’s rosters, with Connac’s men and Uinse’s convicts. Nor would they have any of the refugees who’d volunteered help until there were walls to sleep behind, but Tkaa and no less than three other basilisks, including St’aara and Amiir’aan, were to meet them there.

            The building team had a wagon-train loaded with tools, piping, and all manner of materials; there were also tents and food, so they had to take the longer, easier way, using the Frasrlund road and angling back to Haven from the north. Even on the wide trail the column travelled slowly and it took two days to reach the Greenwoods valley. Kel spent time getting to know the building team, a cheerful bunch, and the regulars who would be her permanent company at New Hope. She’d hesitated to ask Wyldon to make his choice so soon, but she wanted her men to see New Hope created, not least because if they knew they’d be defending its walls they’d have a commitment from the first. But he’d anticipated her, following the same logic, and she’d been surprised (if delighted) to discover there’d actually been competition among Mastiff companies to be chosen. The men selected, Company Eight under Brodhelm of Frasrlund, were proud of their assignment, and though she laced her words to them with cautions her descriptions of what she hoped to build with their help fired their enthusiasm.

            It was too late when they came to the valley to consider starting anything that night, but the basilisks were waiting as promised, and while the builders made camp in the meadow north of the fin and Brodhelm organised corralling, sentry-points, and patrol routes, Kel collected Geraint and went to make the immortals’ acquaintances. Tkaa turned from his conversation with Harailt, Daine, Numair, and Kitten to greet her in that familiar, fluting whisper, and offered congratulations on her exploit. St’aara and Amiir’aan—as endearingly shy as she remembered—seemed pleased she knew their names and recalled their brief meeting five years before; the other basilisk was a male who said his name among mortals was Var’istaan, and that he’d been living near Northwatch but had headed south when the killing devices started appearing and been wandering ever since. The tale of her actions to end the necromancy had reached him via Tkaa and made him think very well of her, so here he was. Offering polite thanks, Kel half-suspected there might be some basilisk courting going on and made a mental note to ask Tkaa about it as soon as she had an opportunity to do so discreetly.

            Then they got down to business. Kel again described what she envisaged, producing drawings that if still sketchy offered more detail than lines in earth, before Numair explained in magical terms and Geraint in engineering ones what the mortals could and couldn’t do. A whispery exchange followed in a language that sounded as if stones popped into gravel in its depths. Then Tkaa fetched five small rocks from the bottom of the scree and set them in a row, tail and one forepaw ensuring they were hard against one another. Motioning the others back he leaned forward, tail outstretched, and cocked his head above the stones before making a noise the like of which Kel had never heard in her life—low and rumbling but with something almost inaudible threading through it that made her think of a vixen’s scream, or the noises men made in the madness of battle. It lasted only a few seconds before Tkaa reached down to grasp the rock nearest him and picked up all five, extending them to a gaping Geraint.

            “They are fused, and the bonds are stronger than the rocks themselves. Limestone is too porous for real resilience but I believe this would suffice for any stress mortals might generate.”

            Speechlessly the building officer took the assemblage, peering at the joins and trying to break the rocks apart. Numair and Harailt examined it magically before grinning at one another, then at Kel.

            “Forgive me, Tkaa, but can you all do this?”

            “We can, Keladry. It is only a variant of the rock-spell.”

            “And you can do it on the scale we need here?”

            “Certainly. Numair may have to boost us if a very large area needs to be stabilised fast, and in that case another mage would have to shield all mortals from the spell, but it is not intrinsically difficult, nor exhausting to perform. You had a question, Geraint?”

            “Two, my Lord. How deeply your spell can penetrate the pile when it’s been rearranged, and how we should best sink foundations into it.”

            “I am no mortal’s lord, Geraint of Legann, nor may any basilisk be such. But to answer, as deeply as we wish, and with the same spell applied differently. When you know where you wish to sink a post or foundation, we will loosen the stone, and when the post is in place, re-set it. Also, if mud is packed around it, to fill any gaps, we can turn that to stone also. With that work even young Amiir’aan will be able to assist.”

            The visions this conjured left Geraint and Kel rubbing their hands in glee, and she left builder, basilisks, and mages deep in half-magical, half-mathematical  argument about how best to set about things. Daine turned to come with her, looking round for Kit, and saw the dragonet nose to nose with the young basilisk, scales pink. Checking with St’aara, who gravely consented, Daine collected both immortals, giving a hand to each, and caught up with Kel, who had watched in fascination.

            “Start as we mean to go on, Kel? I think Amiir’aan’s a bit shy, but he’s got good magic and Kit’s dying to show off her light-spell to anyone she can get to watch. Introduce them to your men?”

            Kel couldn’t have asked for more and spent a cheerful, amusing hour seeing the extrovert Kitten cajole Amiir’aan into turning various sticks, small carvings, and copper bits into stone she could light up with all the colours of the rainbow. Initially wary but not unwilling, and increasingly charmed both by free entertainment and a sense of the young immortals as more of the children their Protector of the Small was properly given to rescuing, the soldiers were soon relaxed and laughing, proffering new things to be petrified. After a while Daine called a maternal halt to the magic, and sat to tell stories of Kitten lighting up battlements to impress her grandsire, Tkaa petrifying hurroks, and St’aara’s and Amiir’aan’s wanderings around Tortall. When she sat Kitten scrambled into her lap and Amiir’aan quietly tucked himself between her and Kel, tail draped over his arm; by the time she was done the young basilisk had made contributions of his own to explain why he and his mama had always ended up moving on. The men were silent when he spoke in his whisper, craning to catch every word and (Kel sensed with fierce pleasure) becoming indignant on his behalf at fearful villagers who thought they might be turned to stone, hostile quarrymen, and masons so sure they needed no immortal competition they wouldn’t stop to consider advantages they might reap. Tkaa always said basilisks were by nature observer-diplomats, and watching Amiir’aan win the affections of her men Kel understood in a new way what he meant.

            After the grinding logistics of her journey with the children Kel found having a commissariat made field command so much easier that her sense of lightness was almost palpable. A force of well-trained and experienced professionals made all the difference in the world, and while Brodhelm was punctilious in reporting to her she wouldn’t dream of interfering in Company Eight’s well-oiled routine. Raoul had taught her long ago that the first rule of giving orders was not to do so whenever it could be avoided, for once you started they’d be expected every time. “It breeds inertia in men and makes martinets of officers who should be doing something useful,” he’d said. “Make sure they all know what needs doing, and leave ’em to it while you do your own work.” So she did, though she took care to go over patrol routes and sentry-points with Brodhelm, telling him of problems presented by dead ground and dense trees. She sensed approval of her detailed knowledge and returned the respect—he was careful and thorough, and though his manner with his sergeants and men was easy they were swift to obey. Merric could learn a lot from him.

            Everyone was up with dawn, and after breakfast the mages prepared. Kel had wondered if Numair would use the Sorcerer’s Dance, as he had to bring boulders to Haven, and when she saw him and Harailt holding recorders she knew she’d been right. They positioned themselves on either side of the scree-pile, stared hard at one another for a moment, then simultaneously drew breath and began to play. The first eerie notes seemed to stir only the hair on Kel’s neck but a lilting tune emerged as lines of melody entwined and after a moment she saw—and heard—rock begin to move, not from the top of the scree but about half-way down. Other rocks slipped as their haphazard balance was disturbed and soon the whole surface of the scree was in motion, scrub wavering and disappearing into a rocktide that rumbled and banged to the foot of the pile and kept going, flowing outwards across the valley floor for a thousand feet to pile up again in a broad arc. By then everyone had retreated; only Numair and Harailt remained within the moving stone, fingers flying as boulders swerved around their feet.

            Seeing it would be hours before the level of the scree would sink enough to expose the spring and cave Kitten had mentioned, Kel took herself off to see what else might need doing. The unhappy truth was that until the mages were done there wasn’t a great deal anyone could do except make their own preparations. Geraint and the building team had headed off for Haven but Kel had no heart for that job, and was only glad the rumble of magework drowned out the distant rasp of saws and creaking timber that would otherwise be making her miserable. Nor would it help to put herself on patrol or watch, and as yet New Hope had no paperwork to be outstanding. She had hoped for a chance to ask Tkaa about the other basilisks, but all four were watching the magical dance of rock as raptly as if it were a show by players or a fine piece of music. Perhaps to them it was, but she noticed after a while that Kitten was growing bored, so with a wave of approval from Daine, intent on Numair, she collected the dragonet and took Peachblossom for a ride.

            The big gelding, white-eyed at the ground-shaking rumble and audible notes, was delighted to get further away and made no objection to Kitten’s weight on his withers, nor to her claws carefully gripping his mane. The dragonet was an experienced rider but Kel didn’t risk a gallop; seeing the river had dropped a little she did canter Peachblossom across the ford and back, to his snorting and Kitten’s whistling delight. Then she took them up valley, passing between the rapids and the jagged end of the fin into its southernmost third.

            It had been in her mind for a while that from Haven, three miles north, they had underused this part of their resources. It had been on patrol routes, of course, and nuts and berries had been harvested, as the trees had been combed for deadwood, but they’d had no manpower to plough the bottomland nor protect any crops. But with New Hope—a name refugees and soldiers alike had approvingly adopted—at better than company strength and in all probability receiving more refugees as the war went on, that would no longer be true and Kel wanted to see what else there might be beyond the fin that she had neglected.

            With the limestone cliffs rising sheer for a mile, though dropping in height, and the western hills closing in steadily to force the Greenwoods ever closer to them, the upper valley was narrower but there were still hundreds of acres of good cropland. And for all it narrowed it was long, stretching another ten miles to where the Great North Road crossed it and beyond towards the peak where the river had its source among the snows. Kel had no wish to extend cultivation that far, but there were good meadows immediately beyond the fin that would be only a couple of miles from the gates of New Hope. When she explained her thoughts to Kitten the dragonet agreed politely that the soil looked rich but to Kel’s amusement obviously felt much as Neal did about vegetables. The seamed limestone cliffs were a better attraction, and after trotting south for a mile or so along the river Kel cut across the meadow and returned north sticking close to them, studying the southern face of the fin from this new angle with growing satisfaction; the rock wasn’t entirely sheer but not even mountain goats were going to be climbing into New Hope that way. The angle of fin and limestone was again softened by scree but on this side there was less and lacking a spring it had no plant cover. Reaching it Kel dismounted, lifting Kitten down, and watched with interest as the dragonet scrambled up to a largish boulder and began whistling it into flares of white and yellow. The lightshow really was pretty, but Kel’s more useful thought was that a second Sorcerer’s Dance might with basilisk help make of this angle a simple enclosure to serve as a corral and handy defensive position, closer than New Hope and far better than open fields for anyone working beyond the fin when Scanran raiders tried their luck.

            Calling a reluctant but obedient Kitten down and remounting, she cantered Peachblossom along the base of the fin, noting with surprise a slight sparkle in its dark hues. Pointing it out she was informed that the dark rock was made of different things stuck together, which made it strong, and among them were crystals and another kind that formed sharp edges. Fascinated by the dragonet’s odd knowledge and view of the world, it occurred to Kel that she made the rock sound like the kind of community New Hope would have to become, finding its strength and resilience not in sameness but in difference bound together. It was the kind of analogy Neal mangled in his attempts at poetry, not something she’d usually think, and she wondered if she’d been overexposed to his pining for Yuki or if the revolution in her mind since getting back to Mastiff was prompting a different kind of imagination.

            Rounding the end of the fin she saw the arc of scree had grown to thirty feet, blocking any view of the mages though notes sounded intermittently through the bass rumble of the rocktide. The top of the screepile had vanished though its outline remained in the lightness of newly exposed limestone, but from the sound it would be a while before there was anything to inspect. Kitten stayed while she unsaddled and rubbed Peachblossom down, then made a circuit of sentries, but when she settled to discussion of company matters with Brodhelm the dragonet offered farewells, startling and pleasing the officer, and went to see if the basilisks were being any more interesting. Kel shared her thoughts about the valley beyond the fin and was glad to find Brodhelm receptive, promising to look for himself. He asked in turn how she and Sir Merric had managed with so few troops at Haven and seemed struck by what she told him about the capacities refugees had shown, ending in their annihilation of a raiding party without calling for help at all.

            “It was a small party, mind—eleven irregulars, not organised troops, but they did well. And Haven fell to the killing devices as much as troops. Saefas Ploughman and Uinse, who leads the convict soldiers, told me they’d got everyone inside and were holding out until three devices came over the eastern wall together. They got one there, with nets and a pickaxe, and another inside, but not before they all wreaked havoc and dragged too many soldiers off the gate. And that was that.”

            Brodhelm nodded grimly. “I’ve seen them training, my Lady, and was surprised how good they were, even the children. You’ve done a fine job. And I’ve heard what Sergeant Connac said to my sergeants. But I didn’t know they’d killed two devices here. That’s impressive.”

            “I know. Sir Merric didn’t have them patrolling, of course—they were needed for ploughing and the rest of the work—but he did have the best archers and spearmen worked into watch rosters so no-one had to do nights for more than a week at a time. I realise you’ve enough men to do that anyway, but when the time comes I’d be glad if you’d consider it. Like the training, it helped them to know they were contributing to their own defence, not depending on others.”

            “Mmm, I see that. And I’ve no objections in principle, once I’ve a sense of who I’m trusting.” He hesitated. “Did the convict soldiers stand watches and patrol?”

            “They did. And every one came on to Rathhausak voluntarily.” The one benefit Kel had discovered to having her report become everyone’s favourite reading was that she could assume any Mastiff soldier understood in fair detail how things had unfolded.

            Brodhelm nodded. “I hear you, my Lady. _Those_ lads have proven themselves, right enough. I was asking because my Lord of Cavall said he thought any extra troops we’d get would be convicts, and I’ve heard there are some due in a week or two, from the mines over by Seabeth.”

            “Let’s hope so. I’ll say frankly that my predecessor at Haven, Captain Elbridge”—Brodhelm nodded that he knew the name—“told me as he handed me his whip that convicts were scum who understood nothing else. He seems to have made sure their rations were short and their care from healers non-existent. My own experience, and Sir Neal’s, is that being properly cared for and fed soon turns sullen resentment and foot-dragging into pride, with hard work and loyalty fast following.” She shrugged. “I know they did wrong but they were thieves and brawlers, not men like Blayce or Stenmun, driven more by poverty than greed. In any case, the King gives them the choice to volunteer, by way of a fresh start, and I’ll not have anyone treated the way Elbridge thought fitting.”

            “Fair enough, my Lady. I’d not expect that of you and I’ve heard Captain Elbridge is a deal too fond of his whip.” His tone became curious. “Tell me, though, what punishments _do_ you use when need arises?”

            Kel grinned. “Scouring armour and latrine duty, mostly. A solid week of it works wonders, I find.” Brodhelm chuckled. “The stocks if someone _has_ to be restrained but that’s only happened once. We’ve had problems when new refugees arrive, but just squabbles from upset for the most part. Nothing worse than fisticuffs and no military problems that made it to me.” She thought for a moment. “It’ll depend if they already have squad sergeants, but if we get more convicts I’d be inclined to put Uinse in charge under you of all those squads, with Jacut as senior corporal. I can promote that far on my own authority and Uinse’s a natural.”

            He nodded. “Yes, they sound good men. If convict numbers go beyond a squad or two having one of their own over them makes sense.” He looked over her shoulder. “I think you’re wanted, my Lady.”

            Kel turned to see Daine waving at her, and jogged over.

            “They’ve uncovered the spring, Kel, and the top of a cavemouth. It looks big, and there’s a lot of rock spilled inside it. I’ve made Numair and Harailt stop for a bit to eat and drink, just, and it’ll be hours before they can clear it to the ground.”

            It was well into the afternoon before Kel could pick her way over a low pass left in what had become a hummocky scree-field to see the spring, a steady gush of water pattering onto the lowered stone slope beneath it, a white streak in shadow; more startlingly the dark outline of a cavemouth showed in the angle of the cliffs, a half-arch leaning against the darker rock of the fin. About thirty feet of ground around it had been cleared, and she followed Daine down the last few feet of stone to join the mages and Kitten with a childhood sense of exploring the unknown and finding a natural den. Numair, bathed in sweat and coated in dust, was chugging water from a bottle Daine had brought, but after a moment passed it to an equally wet and dusty Harailt.

            “It’s big, Kel, and the air smells fresh so there must be other openings. Good storage, though you’ll need to watch for damp.” He grinned. “Kitten wants to try her lightshow, though we might try magelight first.”

            “By all means, but only when you’re ready.”

            “Oh I’m not that tired magically. Just hot and dusty.”

            Harailt raised eyebrows, wiping his forehead, but if without Numair’s reserves didn’t have the pinched look mages got when they’d drained themselves and followed readily as Numair led them to the cavemouth. Enough daylight spilled in for Kel to see the floor was flat for some yards, but the entranceway angled away from the fin and she could see little beyond that. Numair called a ball of light into his hand, picking his way forward, then stepped to one side.

            “Come on in—it really opens up.”

            He let the spill of light from his hand play on the floor until they were all level with him, then cast it into the air. It floated upwards for what seemed a long way, before flaring dazzlingly to illuminate a wonderland that drew them all forward. The cave was enormous, deep and high with rounded walls white enough to gleam in the light; on the far side spears of rippled rock hung from the roof while others stood up from the floor, surrounding a pool. Its dark surface was still and Kel knew it would be deep and bone-cold. Closer to the fin the cave seemed dry, and thought the floor was uneven there was certainly space for storage and at need people. Nor could she see any end, and from the feel of air moving knew the cave must extend for some distance and would have to be explored, if only to be certain it offered no way in from elsewhere. But that was for another day.

            “Well, now, _that’s_ useful.” Harailt spoke with a smile. “You’ve got a water reserve, Keladry. And it’s cool enough to keep provender fresh.”

            “You’re also going to have some happy basilisks, Kel. They’ll be glad to explore it for you.” Daine grinned. “All sorts of crunchy treats to find, though I don’t think you get gemstones in this kind of rock.”

            “You get fossils though, and Tkaa’s been known to say how tasty they are.” Numair sounded dubious. “I think he was teasing Bonedancer. But Daine’s right they’ll like a cave this big. Oh my, that’s fine.”

            The exclamation was prompted by Kitten, sitting by the rock spears thrusting from the floor by the pool and happily making them glow with beads of emerald and blue iridescence that chased one another up and down the stone in whirling spirals.

            “She’s refining that spell every day, I swear. Soon enough, Harailt, we’ll be able to improve that Carthaki light-spell we got from Lindhall.”

            “Don’t start on theory, love.” Daine laid a hand on Numair’s arm and he smiled at her ruefully. “Just be glad Kitten’s found something to keep herself amused while you go back to rock dancing.”

            “Slavedriver.” Leaving his light-ball glowing above he headed back toward the daylight of the cavemouth, holding Daine’s hand. “Kel, we need to know what to do so far as that spring is concerned. There’s no point moving the scree under it if we’re only going to have to put it back later. If we get the basilisks in, can you show us exactly what you want?”


	4. Allying

Chapter Four — Allying

_July – August_

 

It took ten days of hard labour punctuated by the rumbling shrieks, and left mages and basilisks looking the worse for wear, but when it was done Kel’s satisfaction was immense, and shared. From the circle of clear ground in front of the cavemouth a broad path rose across a gentle, curved thirty-foot slope of bonded scree smoothly faced with petrified mud, reaching the top about two-thirds of the way round. Beyond its end the scree nearest the limestone cliffs rose again more sharply before flattening to meet them in a broad terrace five feet below the level of the spring, splashing into a large stone cistern; the overflow was carried away in an open trough along the cliff wall. Below the terrace the main level spread like a plain for a thousand feet along cliffs and fin, rising steeply at its outer edge another eighteen feet into a shelf sixty wide, along the outside of which the walls would stand. And beyond that the stone plunged a full fifty feet at better than seventy degrees: the work of facing the glacis remained, but even with footholds among bonded rocks and free hands it was an awkward climb.

            Where the trough from the spring met the outer shelf it fed into a copper pipe laid through the rock, the water arching out to fall into a newly dug and lined pool that would connect to the moat. At the other end of the girdling shelf, where it met the fin, the roadway cut across the western face of the glacis turned, narrowed, and rose sharply (as Orchan advised) before reaching the top. Wide enough for a single cart, the roadway had a low inner side, exposing it to fire from above, but a near-vertical drop on the outer; at the bottom it curved sharply away, crossing the only part of the moat that had been dug out on a single fifteen-foot wooden span the building team had put together, complete with mageblasts to drop it at need, in less time than Kel would have believed possible. Beyond that there was only a beaten track across the valley bottom but paving would follow, and a bridge of basilisk-quarried limestone blocks was being built by the ford over the Greenwoods, against the annual snowmelt.

            Gatehouse, headquarters, infirmary, cookhouse and messhall, military and civilian barracks, stables, smithy, storage buildings, barns, latrines, and woodsheds had corner posts sunk, enabling teams spreading and smoothing mud Amiir’aan then petrified to concentrate on areas of immediate use. Kel was wary of making too much smooth stone too soon; they would want greenspace and trees besides a kitchen garden, but pathways were in place to save turned ankles, and work had started on the shelf. She won a mild argument with Geraint about a schoolhouse, agreeing cheerfully it came after essentials and reserving ammunition for a more serious dispute.

            Unexpected fifty-foot glacis or no, Geraint’s orders were to build double walls, of fifteen and thirty feet with a twenty-foot killing field between them, and that he would do. Kel had no objections, but after considerable thought decided she wanted the outer walls to have proper alures, which meant access from the inner wall—a bridge over the killing field, to Geraint an abomination. Access one way meant access the other, but after contentious discussions including Brodhelm Kel still felt that while there should only be one bridge, at the junction of western and eastern walls, with mageblasts all over it, the advantage of giving her archers better views, sharper, plunging angles of fire, and closer range unless and until anyone took the outer wall was too great to forgo. From the inner wall the outer would provide cover for anyone who made it any distance up the glacis, and though the increase in range to the ground was not that great it would degrade accuracy. And at bottom Kel wasn’t prepared to sit and let an attack happen; she’d meant what she said about the need to bleed an enemy, and that meant giving her people every chance to do so she could manufacture. Geraint hadn’t been happy but Brodhelm cautiously supported her, and the outer wall starting to rise along the eastern side of the glacis, using timbers from Haven, had a full alure, with inner stairways to give access to the killing field.

            In consequence, one further structure had been added to the plans, a square tower at the junction of the inner walls to house a permanent guard on the bridge; backup mageblast keys would be held elsewhere but if attackers got so far the tower captain would be in the best position to blow the bridge as late as possible and no later. Its elevated roof would also command clear views of the killing field, with more angles of fire than the inner wall would allow.

            The work had so absorbed Kel that when Numair observed one morning that she’d need to leave with him and Daine tomorrow to make Steadfast in time for the weddings, she was shocked to realise it was already the third week of July. Part of her was loath to go but she couldn’t let down Neal or Raoul, let alone Yuki and Buri. Dom would also be there, a bittersweet attraction, and anyway she’d promised. Numair, Harailt, and Tkaa would not be returning, and she persuaded them to spend the day shifting scree on the far side of the fin into a circular heap enclosing a four-hundred foot quarter-circle, twenty-five foot high and steep enough to require real climbing. A gap wide enough for one horse but not two was left hard against the fin, and Kel climbed the roadway back to New Hope with renewed satisfaction.

            What she could wear to the weddings was a sore puzzle. Geraint had recovered her things from Haven and she’d been absurdly happy to see her Yamani cats and paintings, as well as the bag of griffin feathers and spare weaponry, though she presently had nowhere to put them. But if the headquarters building hadn’t burned it had been smoke-filled, and her clothes were soot-speckled and reeking. None of the finery cleaned easily, and she feared the dresses were ruined, but had reluctantly taken her best Mindelan tunic and breeches to the cistern trough and rinsed them thoroughly, thinking Yuki would kill her for attending her wedding in such gear. Nor was she altogether relieved on the courier trail to Mastiff the next day, when she mentioned the problem to Daine only to be informed it was taken care of.

            “Neal realised you’d probably lost everything when you wore a tunic to that feast they gave for you, and came belting round to get Numair to open a firelink to the Palace. Yuki was always going to be bringing his new finery and now she’s bringing something for you too.”

            Kel imagined her Yamani friend was. Visions of flowery pink kimonos floated in her mind but Daine was looking thoughtful.

            “And actually, Kel, I think there’ll be more guests than we know about. If Thayet lets Buri get married without her I’ll be very surprised, so we may find more court dresses at Steadfast than the north’s seen since the Great Progress.”

            Kel wasn’t any happier for that but thought Daine might be right about the Queen, who was after all Buri’s oldest friend. If she’d thought about it in time she could have sent to Lalasa for something that wouldn’t make her look like a decorated treestump, but events had driven it from her mind despite Neal’s constant paeans to Yuki’s eyebrows, toes, and golden Yamani complexion. And while Thayet always seemed sensible she wasn’t called the Peerless for nothing, and her presence would mean an entourage of elegant court beauties who made Kel feel most acutely the price paid for her training in thickened ankles, column waist, and scars. At least her monthly had finished a few days before, with the bloated feeling that had accompanied her first courses since returning from Rathhausak, but it was cold comfort.

            Shortly after noon they stopped at Mastiff to eat and allow Kel to report to Wyldon. He heard her enthusiastic description of the defences already achieved with interest, informed her the eastern building team were due shortly, and when she lingered sent her on her way with instructions to enjoy herself and a request to convey formal letters of congratulation to Queenscove and Goldenlake. Neal, Seaver, Faleron, and Owen had left two days before with Duke Baird, but Wyldon and Harailt were staying.

            “Someone has to hold the fort while you’re all disporting yourselves.” His face was stern but Kel could see through his demeanour to a dignified amusement. “Go on with you, Keladry. The whole front’s been quiet since your return and Sir Myles says Maggur’s back in Hamrkeng trying to hold his army together, so I expect we’ll be safe enough in your absence, this time.”

            Feeling emotion surge as she realised he’d seen to the core of her reluctance, she turned back from the door and before she could persuade herself out of it gave him a quick hug.

            “Thank you, Wyldon. You’re a good man.”

            Then she fled, for once leaving him pink-cheeked, and within minutes was waving to children as she rode past the tents with Daine and Numair, heading down to the Northwatch road and west for Steadfast. After a quiet night at a waypoint, marked only by a conversation between Daine and a bear they found hopefully snuffling at the mage-locked storage bins and delighted with a small gift of honey, they rode through the fort’s imposing gates in time for lunch, and found social bedlam winning a struggle against army order. Queen Thayet _was_ there, an Ownsman on the gate informed her gloomily, as were Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami with a half-dozen Queen’s ladies, three groups of Queen’s Riders, and five squads of the Own’s Second. Moreover, he added with a sniff, half Corus had taken advantage to ride along and seemed surprised to find a frontline fort in wartime did not have every comfort they thought essential. Passing to the stables Kel got no further than dismounting before being tackled fiercely by Tobe and Jump, who’d ridden with Neal and the others, then by the groom-to-be, hair in wilder disorder than usual and jittering as if his breeches were full of ants.

            “There you are at _last_ , Kel. You’ve cut it very fine. The weddings are _tomorrow_ , you realise? You delight in torturing my last hours as a bachelor. Yuki’s been beside herself since her brother arrived and whacking me with her fan every other minute. Even Raoul’s growling.”

            “Keiichi’s here?”

            “With more swords than any man needs. You’re looking after him tomorrow, seeing as you speak Yamani and he doesn’t speak much Tortallan or Common. Now come on, for pity’s sake, or there won’t be a wedding because Yuki will have killed me.”       

            Abandoning Peachblossom and the sparrows to Tobe and Jump with a promise to see them properly as soon as she could, Kel let herself be dragged to the barracks serving as female quarters and thrust through the door as Neal rushed off on some other errand, still jabbering like a madman. She had no time to ponder Keiichi’s presence, though, or that he spoke very good Tortallan, Common, and two other languages because an unusually demonstrative Yuki fell on her with a rush of words and a string of orders to a company of seamstresses and maids. Sorting through the chatter Kel decided Neal had not been exaggerating as much as she’d suspected: her friend was bright-eyed and her _shukusen_ did look as if it had received hard usage lately, but there was that purpose in the apparent confusion that told her Yuki was running everything smoothly, and the panic was Neal’s. Amid the bustle she found herself stripped to breastband and loincloth and measured in all directions by an efficient woman who consulted Yuki and rushed off. She was reaching self-consciously for her shirt when Yuki stopped her.

            “No, Kel, we can do the fitting straight away.” She frowned, looking her friend up and down. “You’ve lost weight but Lalasa’s measurements are still good, so there’s not much to adjust—some tucking for the bust of the underdress, and perhaps the hips.” Coming forward she grasped Kel’s hands, searching her eyes with a serious look. “It is very good to see you alive and well. We’re all so proud of you. Was it very bad?”

            Kel smiled, ignoring polite Yamani blankness and her undress, and leaned forward to hug Yuki. “It wasn’t pretty but it’s over and everyone’s safe. What about you? All set for tomorrow? And who’s this we? You and Cricket?”

            “Oh yes, all is ready except your dress and the flowers, but they won’t be done until tomorrow morning. Lord Sakuyo knows how the food will be—we brought delicacies from Corus but we’re having to rely on the Own’s cooks—and yes, Shinko’s proud of you, of course, but there are other people who want to see you too.” A sly smile lit her eyes. “Including one I doubt you’re expecting.”

            “That sounds ominous. Who—”

            Kel’s curiosity had to be stifled as the seamstress returned with what appeared to be an entire wardrobe and set about investing Kel with more layers than one of Numair’s explanations. There was a fine lawn shift that made her very conscious of shabby small clothes, then an underdress the woman ruthlessly adjusted and pinned beneath her breasts and at her hips, indifferent to Kel’s embarrassment at being rather intimately handled and her squeak when a pin went astray. Once that was completed with a brusque promise to have bust and waist properly sewn for the morning, the next layer was a gorgeous cream silk under-kimono decorated with a leaf pattern, and finally a magnificent over-kimono in a deep forest green with Mindelan owls and its own creamy distaff border and _obi_ —beyond question Lalasa’s handiwork and repeated on a pair of fine slippers. Speechless, Kel stared at the elegant stranger in the metal mirror the seamstress held up, then at Yuki who dimpled pleasure, smiling so much she had to hide behind her fan.

            “That’s better.”

            “It’s amazing, Yuki. You can’t have had this done in a month!”

            “No. I was always going to bring you a proper dress kimono or I knew I’d have a bridesmaid in breeches.”

            “A _bridesmaid?_ ”

            “Yes, Keladry. You’re my oldest friend. Did you think you’d be standing idly about?”

            Kel spluttered and Yuki grinned. “Cricket insisted on being matron of honour, as the Queen did for Buri, so you’re in good company.”

            “What do I have to do? I’ve never been a bridesmaid, Yuki.”

            “You haven’t? But all your sisters are married.”

            “I missed Oranie’s and Adalia’s weddings. And Demadria’s.” She wasn’t going to tell even Yuki that despite her mother’s efforts her fashion-conscious, very feminine sisters would sooner have had a stormwing attend them than the Cow. “Just give me clear orders, Yuki.”

            “It’s not complicated. You and Cricket walk behind me holding flowers as we go in and follow us out afterwards, pairing with Neal’s best man and supporter. Then you help me change, we go to the second ceremony, and you’re off duty.”

            “I can do that, though why you think _I_ can help you change is beyond me.”

            Yuki grinned. “There’ll be maids, don’t worry.”

            “Good. Who are Neal’s best man and supporter?”

            “His cousin Domitan and Roald.”

            “Oh.” Kel’s heart bounced. “Right. Flowers, behind you in and beside Dom out, defer to the maids. Anything else?”

            “Face paint, Yamani-style. I’ll do you when I do myself.”

            Kel scowled. “Must I?”

            “Of course you must. Do you want Keiichi to report that I was attended by a barbarian?”

            “As if he’d care. How is he, anyway? I didn’t think he could make it. And why does Neal think he can’t speak Tortallan?”

            Yuki’s eyes crinkled and she whipped her fan up again. “He’s well, and the emperor overruled his mother-in-law. Very publicly.”

            “Oh my. That must have been fun all round.”

            “So he says. I think he adopted the dumb act for the fun of teasing Neal, the dubious pleasure of hearing him mangle Yamani half to death, and to win time to see me and Cricket by ensuring no-one else is thought competent to entertain him.”

            Kel laughed. “Sensible man. I’d forgotten how wicked he can be. From Neal’s babbling about swords I take it he’s in full _samurai_ fig?”

            “Certainly. He is representing the emperor as well as my parents.”

            “Really? He’s doing very well.”

            “Yes. My parents are exceedingly happy with both of us. Let Sabila take the kimonos and the rest until tomorrow, and come to see Cricket.”

            Beautiful and flattering as the outfit was, Kel was glad to get back to her comfortable breeches, shirt, and tunic. Her relaxation was short-lived, though, for when Yuki showed her to the room where Shinko was waiting she found not only Thayet and Buri with the Queen’s Ladies, Uline haMinch among them, but to her astonishment her mother.

            “Kel, sweeting.” Ilane of Mindelan grasped her youngest daughter’s hands fiercely before enfolding her in a tight hug. “By the time we heard about it all you were safe, thank the Goddess, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen your father have so many kittens as he did when the King showed him your report. Or be so proud. We both are.”

            “Oh Mama.” Kel felt herself tearing up and swallowed hard, clinging to the practical. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t not.”

            Ilane gave her a searching look. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

            “Risking so much. Our honour. If Lord Wyldon and the King hadn’t been so generous—”

            “Nonsense, Keladry.” Thayet’s voice was firm but kind. “You did nothing of which you shouldn’t be very proud. And that deal Jonathan made with you shamelessly took advantage of your confusion and injury. He can’t pay off one debt with another, as he knows perfectly well. If I’d had my fan when he told me I’d have whacked him, as Yuki does Neal. No, don’t look at me like that—it’s no more than the truth. And I’m bothered if you’ll apologise for saving all those people from that putrid mage. But I’m afraid we do want a first-hand account, so come tell us.”

            Kel wasn’t sure if that was the royal _we_ but despite the confusions roiling inside her there was clearly no getting out of it, so she let herself be seated and plied with tea before answering questions as best she could. Though the Queen’s Ladies were graceful, courtly women they were also trained to arms, if not as knights were; their questions were practical and if tinged with admiration that made Kel increasingly uneasy showed a grasp of logistics as well as sharp appreciation of the assistance her animals had given. Buri’s and Thayet’s questions were more searching; Cricket and her mother listened intently with a stillness that told Kel they were holding in strong emotions. Eventually Thayet and Buri exchanged a long glance and sat back, faces thoughtful.

            “Raoul said you’d taken a deathly risk at Rathhausak, Kel, and he wasn’t wrong. But what else were you to do?” Buri smiled dryly. “And I have nothing but admiration for you getting those children back to Tortall. Thayet and I once had the dubious pleasure of escorting a tenth that many through a war-zone, and what we’d have done with two hundred I cannot begin to think.”

            “Gods, that’s true.” Thayet shook her head. “We didn’t have any men-at-arms, mind, but until we met Alanna and Liam we didn’t have any idea what to do. Sarain was a nightmare in those days.”

            This story was new to Kel and from their looks to most of the Queen’s Ladies, and as Thayet and Buri were coaxed into telling it Kel gratefully withdrew from attention. Shifting to sit between her mother and Cricket she quietly caught up with both, finding Cricket eager for her own, long postponed wedding to Roald and wistful that Yuki would precede her into the mysteries and pleasures of marriage. A similar thought had crossed Kel’s mind but this was hardly the place for intimate talk and she let conversation slide to preparations Cricket was making, and the Yamani delegation that would attend. A month’s leave for the round trip to the capital was out of the question, unless Maggur were to drop dead and end the war, and though they both hoped for it she knew in her heart that wasn’t how events would play out.

            Ilane had assorted news of family and brought Kel shocked congratulations from Anders and Inness with welcome news of two royal warships stationed at Mindelan against possible reprisals. Perhaps mercifully, she hadn’t seen Conal since Kel’s report had been published, or tactfully wasn’t saying. Later, when they slipped out to find the lunch Kel had missed and tucked themselves into Ilane’s guest-room, she also wormed out of her daughter some explanations of her apology and what Thayet had meant about a deal, eyes darkening.

            “Thayet was right, Kel. That stinks.”

            “I didn’t think so, Mama.”

            “You wouldn’t. But if it makes you happier, that’s good.” She sat in thought for a minute. “The King’s right you were grossly underestimating yourself, though. I didn’t bring you up to …” Her gaze sharpened. “It’s because you weren’t there, isn’t it? You were trying to punish yourself.”

            Kel flushed. “That’s what Dom thought.”

            “Masbolle? Wise man.”

            “I don’t know, Mama. Maybe. It’s hard.” Truth broke through. “It’s not that I wasn’t there for the attack. I know I can’t be everywhere I should—no commander can. But I didn’t do enough before. I knew the defences weren’t up to any real attack. Gods, I even knew _why_ we were being attacked so often, that the children were the target. I should have got more men out of Wyldon _and_ Raoul somehow. I _knew_ I should. And if I had many people would be alive, and the children wouldn’t have had to survive a nightmare.”

            “Wait, Kel. How could you know all that?”

            The King’s explanations had not extended to the Chamber nor the involvement of Irnai and at least two gods, and Ilane’s eyebrows moved steadily skywards as she listened. But whatever curses she wanted to heap on the Chamber, she was impatient with her daughter’s guilt.

            “Whatever you thought you knew, Kel, the vulnerability of the refugees was political maths, nothing you or Lord Wyldon could have done anything about. I agree it’s wrong but it’s how it is. And war’s never logical close to. You did all you could. Actually, you did a great deal more. Venting at command wouldn’t have got you anywhere but everyone’s black books, and when it did all happen as you feared you did something truly amazing to save your people. I doubt they’re complaining or calling for your head, so why are you?”

            “I’m not any more, Mama. I accepted the King’s deal gratefully. And I’m putting the energy into fixing that political maths another way.” Kel wasn’t going to report Irnai’s prophecy and worry her parents when there was nothing they could do, but she could describe New Hope and its improbable construction, winning riveted attention. Ilane was too observant not to realise something driving her daughter was going unspoken, but the building capacity of mage–basilisk teams given loose stone to work with was news for anyone to ponder, and when one or two questions shaved close to the bone Kel shyly proffered the tale of her conversation with Wyldon. Just like Raoul, Ilane first stared and then collapsed in her chair with a whoop. Kel glared at her.

            “What’s so funny about it? Raoul’s reaction was the same, as if Wyldon really were like the stump Neal calls him. He’s just a person.”

            Ilane whooped again. “This from _you?_ Sweeting, he’s the stiffest man I’ve ever met who can still move and he treated you appallingly.”

            “Not really. He just didn’t treat me well. But he let me stay and cured my fear of heights. I couldn’t be what I am without him.”

            “I know, sweeting. And it’s not really funny, you’re right. Actually, it’s rather touching. But it _is_ the best irony I’ve heard in a while, that after all his bile about the unfitness of women in arms you and he should become better friends than he is with most people in his own political circle.” Ilane wiped her eyes. “I take it this isn’t public news?”

            “Certainly not. It’s no-one’s business but our own.” Kel smiled. “And I’m keeping the pleasure of telling Neal in reserve for when I really want to shock him.

            Ilane grinned. “ _That_ makes sense, though I shall have to tell your papa. And Anders, if I may—he’ll enjoy the irony too, when he’s picked himself up off the floor.”

            Their conversation drifted into domesticities about Mindelan, and after a while Kel went to discharge her promise to Tobe and hear what he’d been up to with the fine warhorses Wyldon kept, and Jump with the equally fine wardogs. Afterwards she ate supper with Neal and the other knights of her year, hearing news of quiet patrols and when they were briefly joined by Roald and Owen describing New Hope to some amazement, but declined their invitation to help get Neal drunk. Before taking herself off to bed, though, she did manage a quiet chat with Merric, telling him about Brodhelm and how Company Eight were working patrols and defence. He nodded and met her gaze.

            “Lord Wyldon told me that you wanted me as Brodhelm’s second, if I was willing. And I am, Kel, never doubt it. I’m just glad you still trust me after—”

            “Hush.” She laid a hand on his arm. “There were a lot of mistakes made, Merric. Command screwed up, not us—we were left holding the babies, literally. I want you at New Hope because I _can_ trust you, not just as a knight and captain. You know our people and they like you. I think Brodhelm can teach us both a lot, but you can keep _him_ up to the mark if he steps astray. Thank you for agreeing to come back.”

            It had been a more emotional afternoon and evening than Kel had been expecting, but Merric’s strength and commitment was a good place to end it, and she found her small bed in a barracks-room shared with a Queen’s Rider with a sense of another step taken.

            She rose before dawn, fed Jump and the sparrows, and fitted in an hour of exercise and pattern dances as well as delivering Wyldon’s letters to Neal’s and Raoul’s rooms before eating breakfast and dutifully reporting to Yuki to be painted. It had been years since she’d worn the full white mask with bright lips and shadowed eyes high etiquette required, and while she disliked the sense of constriction all that was needed was her familiar mask, as expressionless as the white paint. Yuki turned her brushes on Cricket, who returned the favour, and all three were assisted into their layers of clothing. The adjustments to Kel’s underdress were a marvel, and the fabric now lifted her bust into near-respectability and flared at her hips, making her waist seem thinner. The changes enabled the thin ties of her under-kimono and _obi_ to be drawn tighter, extending the benefits outwards.

            Yuki’s kimonos were the pure white traditional for wedding, in Yaman as in Tortall, with the most delicate white-on-white embroidery showing the arms of Daiomoru and Queenscove; to Kel’s impressed amusement there was also a proper _tsunokakushi_ headpiece in the design that always reminded her of a broad-beamed riverboat. Cricket’s outfit, by contrast, was a deep red as dark as Kel’s forest green, embroidered in gold with the Conté sword and imperial Yamani dragon, and bound with a black _obi_. When they presented themselves for inspection to Thayet, green and red framing Yuki’s bridal white, the Queen sighed pleasure and congratulations, as did Ilane, in fine grey kimonos but without face-paint. To Kel’s delight and envy Thayet, Buri, and Onua Chamtong, Buri’s bridesmaid, had broken out their best K’miri outfits, loose, embroidered white leggings and long, richly coloured, elaborately decorated tunics. Buri said she wasn’t about to start married life by abandoning trousers and giving Raoul strange notions of domesticity, and there were a few improper remarks that made Kel grateful for paint that hid all blushes.

            The ceremonies were not until afternoon but time seemed to fly. At one point Kel answered a brisk rap on the door of the women’s quarters to find Dom, magnificent in silk trousers and a Masbolle tunic, bearing the groom’s gift to the bride and elaborately sealed letters patent approved by King and Emperor that made Yuki heir to Queenscove until she and Neal had children, established her style as Lady Yukimi noh Daiomoru of Queenscove, and symbolically granted a parcel of land in a corner of the second largest Yamani Isle. Bowing in almost correct style, Dom proffered her a long, thin box and bundled scrolls.

            “My lady, these are for …” His voice trailed away as he saw the Mindelan owl on her kimono and searched her face. “Kel? Is that really you in there?”

            “I can’t smile in all this paint, Dom, but yes, it’s really me. You’re well? It’s good to see you.”

            “Oh, I’m good. You look splendid, though.”

            Was she imagining that his eyes lingered longer than was polite on her boosted curves? Her heart thudded, and she found herself again grateful for concealing paint, but they talked easily for a few moments. Raoul had filled Dom in on the essentials of her meeting with General Vanget and King Jonathan, and he twitted her gently about her fears beforehand and offered amused congratulations on the fate of her written report. She in turn gave him an outline of the startling building of New Hope, which he promised to see as soon as he could, but both had other duties calling and after hastily fetching the bride’s gift to the groom, a magnificent Yamani sword, they ended with mutual promises of a proper chat later.

            Neal’s gift turned out to be a finely worked _shukusen_ , in finest Yamani steel with the Queenscove arms, which made Yuki quite tearful and necessitated careful dabbing by Cricket to save her face-paint. The mutual exchange of weaponry by two of the least warlike people Kel knew struck her as far more ironic than her understanding with Wyldon, but in Yamani terms the coincidence of gifts was a good sign—one of the occasions when they said Lord Sakuyo was favouring you with a benign joke. Moved by an impulse she didn’t entirely understand but felt it wise to honour, Kel slipped away to Cricket’s rooms—in so far as her outfit allowed her to slip anywhere—and lit an incense-stick at the portable shrine the Princess maintained in thanks for delivery from the marriage arranged for her before the emperor decided she must replace the late Princess Chisokami in binding the Yamani–Tortallan treaty. In the islands Kel had loved stories of Sakuyo’s jokes, and lighting the incense after murmuring a short prayer for Neal’s and Yuki’s happiness felt a welling peace that left her breathless. She peered suspiciously at the shrine with its smiling figure of the god amid _shide_ and braided _shimenawa_ , but a sharp call from Yuki recalled her to duty and she set the puzzle aside.

            The wedding went without a hitch, and indrawn breaths from the packed assembly as Yuki walked into the fort’s Mithran temple, Kel and Shinko bearing flowers behind her, were very satisfactory. Keiichi, an impressive figure in dress _samurai_ kimonos, unarmoured but wearing both swords, waited to claim Yuki’s hand and pass it to Neal, proclaiming their parents’ consent and the emperor’s blessings in the high imperial mode Kel hadn’t heard in years. Vows were spoken in Yamani and Tortallan, and if Neal’s accent was execrable he did get words and grammar correct. Catching Keiichi’s eye as the intent groom just avoided swearing stability rather than fidelity she had to bite her cheek, and from Keiichi’s stillness thought he too was having difficulty maintaining decorum. Then it was done, marigold necklaces exchanged, fire lit, and a demonstrative Tortallan kiss exchanged. She fell in with Dom behind Roald and Shinko, accepting his arm and feeling hot flesh beneath his fine broadcloth tunic.

            As soon as they were outside she had to trot after Yuki to watch a flock of maids help her friend exchange white kimonos for others in Queenscove colours, befitting her new status and avoiding the ill fortune of wearing white to another’s wedding. Despite the mock-protests of her friends and its use in concealing blushes, Kel took the chance to remove her face-paint and the enhancements to eyes and lips that made her feel fraudulent. Then it was back to the temple to see Raoul in best Goldenlake finery and Buri in her splendid K’miri outfit claim one another as if no-one else existed in the world, which Kel thought an achievement with Thayet ten feet away, radiant with joy for her friend. And finally there was food by the bushel and drink by the gallon, the Own’s cooks showing themselves more than equal to Corus delicacies and clearly possessed of excellent contacts among locals who fished the Vassa for its large and succulent bream.

            Kel was indeed seated next to Keiichi, who greeted her solemnly but with twinkling eyes in that high imperial mode.

            “Keladry- _sama_.  It is my honour to meet again the valiant daughter of your most honourable mother. My Imperial Master commands me to convey to you his personal congratulations on your achievement of knighthood.” Slipping into the familiar mode between friends he added, “And had He known of it, I am sure He would have added His admiration for your more recent exploit, which I shall report to Him.”

            Surprised by Keiichi’s high honorific and touched the emperor would bother himself with pleasantries, though she knew it was a tribute more to her mother than herself, Kel summoned her memory of the proper reply in such a matter to a ranking samurai scholar-diplomat.

            “Keiichi- _sensei_ , this fortunate person is overwhelmed by the honour of His Imperial Majesty’s most gracious notice and begs you will forgive her deficiencies in responding.” With relief she let herself follow him into the familiar. “Which you’ll have to do anyway, Keiichi- _san_ , as while I don’t in the least mind keeping up your pretence of such dreadful ignorance I haven’t used the high mode for more than ten years.”

            He let a smile show. “Am I not a most shameful brother-in-law? It was just that Nealan greeted me in such fine Yamani I hadn’t the heart to tell him he need not torture himself with our absurd language.”

            “Oh, was that it? Yuki- _chan_ thought you merely wished to avoid all the dull people with whom you would otherwise have had to make polite small talk in a barbarian tongue.”

            “That too, of course. Though you may find it of use yourself given the portly gentleman on your other side. He is some relation of Lord Raoul’s, I believe, who does not entirely approve of foreigners.”

            Kel had no idea who the man was, and as he omitted to introduce himself when she sat she was happy to return the favour and stay in Yamani for a pleasant conversation with Keiichi. He knew she’d known Neal for a long time and discreetly sought impressions, moved, Kel thought, by genuine concern for his sister’s happiness; he also quizzed her about her sudden fame, and in return gave news of all kinds from the Islands. Although he was eight years older than Yuki he’d been very protective of her as a child, and Kel had always liked him for that as well as himself, so her evening was enjoyable. Even the speeches weren’t bad, especially as she was mercifully spared any such duties herself—though she was mentioned by both Neal, who looked dazed with happiness and relief, as the person who first made him appreciate Yamani culture and warned him of how their poetry differed from Tortallan romanticism, and a beaming Raoul as the finest, not to say only, matchmaking squire he’d ever had. Both regretted the absence of the Lioness, as knight master and best friend, but she hadn’t been able to leave Frasrlund.

            Quite how people managed it after such a meal Kel wasn’t sure, but speeches were followed by hours of dancing before the retirement of the newlyweds to their bridebeds, accompanied by raucous and indecent encouragements. Having endured stiff or simpering congratulations on her heroism from assorted people she didn’t know, who seemed far more curious about the oddity of a Lady Knight than interested in what she’d actually done, she cornered Dom and despite the difficulties of moving in kimonos managed one dance with him, enjoying his scent and the hand resting at her waist as they rounded the floor. But she saw his attention stray to an hourglass blonde flirting indiscriminately and let him go with a pang, slipping out of the messhall in the hope of finding a seamstress or someone else competent to help her shed and fold the kimonos.

            She was in luck, and touched to discover Yuki had provided rigid panniers in which her new best clothing could be properly packed. After reverting to shirt and breeches Kel took the panniers to her room and considered going to bed, but decided her full stomach called for a turn along the walls. The night was as balmy as the north ever became, and though the moon was only a sliver the stars were bright and light spilled from many windows with sounds of good cheer. Softly greeting the sentries she climbed to the alure and had worked her way round two walls when she found Daine with a bird whose rippled plumage made Kel think of treebark. Uncertain she hesitated, but Daine glanced up and beckoned her on.

            “It’s alright, Kel. He doesn’t mind.”

            She went forward. “What is he?”

            “Nighthawk. He was out after moths and stopped to say hello.”

            Tentatively Kel extended a hand to stroke the bird’s head, finding the feathers softer than those of sparrows. “He’s very handsome.”

            “Flatterer. You’ll give him ideas.”

            The bird flew off, revealing surprisingly long wings, and Daine turned amused eyes on Kel.

            “Given your arms, there’s someone else you should meet, if you can wait a moment. I sensed him a little while back.”

            She took a thick cloth from her waist, wrapping it around her forearm, and closed her eyes, extending her arm. Kel could hear nothing beyond familiar insect noises and the faint murmur of the Vassa but after a moment a tremendous white shape ghosted soundlessly from the darkness to perch on Daine’s improvised guard with thickly feathered feet, talons flexing. Great yellow eyes considered Kel from amid pure white plumage before turning to the Wildmage, who raised her hand to stroke the owl’s face softly. Kel found she was holding her breath.

            “Hello, wing-brother. How goes your hunting?”

            The reply must have been satisfactory, for Daine went on to explain that Kel’s arms included an owl. The puzzle of what understanding even this magnificent a bird might have of heraldry seemed unimportant when the owl again regarded her unblinkingly.

            “He approves. You should stroke his cheek. He likes that.”

            Hesitantly, not so much for the hooked bill as in delighted wonder, Kel did and the owl leaned into her caress before Daine launched him into darkness. Eyes shining, Kel laid her hand on the Wildmage’s arm.

            “Thank you. That was … special.”

            “The pleasure’s mine. I’ve always liked owls. They have clear minds.”

            They leaned together companionably in a crenel, looking out to the forest. There was a pensive expression on Daine’s face.

            “A copper for your thoughts?”

            “Oh, just marriages. Since Numair and I were wed three years back we’ve both wanted children, but there was that trip to Carthak with Kally, and by the time we were back this war was beginning. It’s frustrating, and today’s made me fret on it. My Ma’s getting impatient too. She gave me one of those looks when I told her at Samradh I’d be here today and asked her blessing.” Daine grinned wickedly. “She’s supposed to be a goddess of pregnancy and childbed but she seems to reckon that includes what comes first. She always liked a good gossip.”

            Kel shook her head, smiling, though inwardly she was embarrassed. “And I thought it was strange when Numair said he’d met Lord Gainel at his in-laws.”

            Daine grinned again. “Only once, when we were godknapped during the Immortals War. He’s been using that line ever since.” She gurgled a laugh. “He’s more cautious these days, though. He tried it during that eternal Progress on some old biddy who was boring him and got treated to an account of every dream she’d ever had before he could escape. I passed that story on to Da and he said Gainel thought it was funny too. What is it, Kel?”

            “Sorry, I’m just thinking about gods and how you and Numair are so familiar with them.” Kel waved a hand. “I’ve never had any magic and though I always honour Lord Mithros and the Goddess, and Lord Sakuyo, I never felt or experienced anything strange.” She turned, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes wander over the familiar order of the fort. “And it was important that I didn’t. Everyone knew the Lioness was god-touched and I wasn’t. And that was fine, a kind of honesty—what I achieved was through my own sweat. Even the Chamber didn’t seem strange, really—it was supposed to give you visions, and when the Nothing Man became a recurring dream it was just more of the same. But then I met Irnai and found out it wasn’t just the Chamber but Lord Gainel and Shakith. And today when I lit a stick of incense to Lord Sakuyo for Yuki’s and Neal’s happiness, I felt … I don’t know, a sudden peacefulness that wasn’t quite me.”

            Daine’s voice was wry. “Gods are unsettling, right enough, never mind having your Ma turn into one. They’re nothing like as perfect as they think either, even the Great Gods. At least my Ma remembers what hunger’s like, and living with folk who scorn you. The Great Gods have never been mortal and they’ve no more humanity than your Chamber. Shakith I’ve only seen once, not to speak to, but Gainel … well, he’s the best of them like that. It’s the foot he has in Chaos, I suppose, and the time he spends in mortal heads. Still”—she took Kel’s hand, squeezing—“you’re probably right you’ve caught their attention now, if you hadn’t before, and that’s uncomfortable. I won’t say you should trust them—they’ll do what they think needs done and mortals get hurt in the process. So do the People. But I think just now they’re … on your side. And that you should keep on just as you are.” She sighed, letting Kel’s hand go. “Da says even they don’t know what’s going to happen but _something_ is, connected with the war that changes what comes after, and until it does everything’s in what he calls flux. But the Badger said he was pleased about you killing Blayce, and others too, so while gods are no better at gratitude than griffins I guess you have favours owing. Just be careful what you pray for.”

            Kel blinked. “Huh. Honours in Corus and favours from gods. I was just looking out for my people, Daine, not looking for rewards.”

            Daine smiled. “I know, but there’s no more refusing gods’ generosity than their anger. And they can do things no-one else can. It’s fair useful sometimes.”

            And with that disturbing but hopeful thought Kel had to be content.

 

* * * * *

 

She had the next day to see Cricket, Keiichi, her mother, and Raoul. Her former knight master might have used noble privilege to marry but couldn’t leave the fort without a commander, so Buri would stay at Steadfast in his enlarged quarters and, though she’d resigned command of the Queen’s Riders, act as co-ordinator for Rider groups sent north. Kel had hoped to spend time with Dom also, but he and his squad, with Balim’s, had headed out shortly after dawn, with throbbing heads, to investigate a frantic report of a tauros attack further west. Disturbed by the news, Kel managed to lunch with Yuki and Neal, who had a week’s leave before he was due to return to New Hope, while Yuki would go to Corus for Roald’s and Shinko’s marriage. What came after was moot, but to Kel’s pleased surprise she found Yuki wanted to join Neal at New Hope. Giving Kel a newly knowing look she said she found marriage agreed with her and hadn’t wedded Neal only to live apart from him.

            Not for the first time Kel thought she really didn’t want to imagine her best friends in that way, especially with news of a tauros in her mind, but also felt the familiar ache of her own frustrations and growing regret for the possibilities she had sacrificed for knighthood. The sense of being isolated in chastity had never bothered her as page or squire, even when Cleon made clumsy jokes before her jousts about dying a virgin, and she’d expected to sleep with him sooner or later; but it hadn’t happened, she’d lost her feelings for him as those for Dom grew stronger, and his arranged marriage to Ermelian of Aminar in April had separated them permanently. Now, as she saw her friends’ happiness, hands lingering in touches as strangely intimate as they were public, and thought about the marriages of her yearmates that were sure to follow, she began to understand more clearly the kind of sorrow lonely nights would become. There was, she couldn’t help feeling, too much truth in the old verse her father liked quoting in difficult negotiations: _The toad beneath the harrow knows / where every separate tooth-point goes; / the butterfly upon the road / preaches contentment to that toad_. As a dreaming ten-year-old she hadn’t known what she was surrendering but today knowledge pressed. Annoyed with self-pity she took herself off to find Tobe and pack, thinking that while she might not have had the fun of conceiving him—whatever it was like—or the burden of carrying him, she already had, to all intents and purposes, a ten-year-old son.

            On the following day, having made farewells and wondering how long it might be before she saw Keiichi again, the ride to Mastiff with Owen, Esmond, Seaver, and Faleron as well as Tobe, Jump, and her sparrows was peaceful. Arriving as dusk faded into night she was concerned to see considerable bustle around the refugees’ tents and within the fort, but when she strode to his office, abandoning Peachblossom and the animals to Tobe, Wyldon was talking calmly to a burly, fair-haired man of about thirty whom she didn’t know.

            “Ah, Mindelan, you’re back.” Punctilious as ever he rose to greet her, as did the other. “I don’t believe you’ve met Sir Rannac of Greendale. He’s come in as my second and patrol captain here, replacing poor Sir Berrinol.” Wyldon’s former second had died in the battle on the day after Kel’s attack at Rathhausak. “Greendale, this is Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, commanding at New Hope and ranking officer of the district after myself and Goldenlake.”

            The man offered a heelclick with a bow, and a calloused hand. “Lady Knight. I’m honoured to meet you. Your report made the best reading I’ve had in a while, and I offer my sincere congratulations and thanks for killing that mage. I was at Northwatch before being posted here and we lost a lot of good men to those gods-cursed killing devices.”

            Wyldon’s eyes flickered disapproval of the profanity but Kel could detect nothing but professional courtesy and genuine gratitude and took the hand willingly. Greendale was east of Goldenlake, on the Drell, and while its politics were conservative she didn’t recall any of its knights or nobles among her challengers during the Progress.

            “Sit, sit.” Wyldon waved her to a chair. “All went well at Steadfast? And all quiet there now?”

            “It did, my Lord—a fine occasion—and I delivered your letters. The Queen was there, supporting Commander Turiakom, as well as the Prince and Princess, and much to my surprise my mother, so I had a good time. And yes, all was quiet when I left, militarily, but yesterday there was a report of a tauros attack further west. They’re investigating.”

            “A _tauros_ attack? Mithros. Where did one of those horrors spring from?” Wyldon frowned distaste for the compulsively and violently libidinous immortals. “Let’s hope it proves a false alarm. We haven’t had a tauros this far north for a while. But I’ll draw up a warning notice for our civilians, Greendale, and we’d best get women and girls behind the walls as soon as we can. Post additional sentries at the treeline tonight and make sure all company captains are aware of this news.” His brow furrowed. “Tauros hoofprints are distinctive but few men will have seen one. We must make sure everyone brushes up on immortal fieldsign.”

            Sir Rannac nodded and Wyldon turned to Kel.

            “Please do the same with Frasrlund and Company Eight, Mindelan, and both building teams. The eastern team reached New Hope the day after you left and the startled report their leader sent me bore out all you said about what you’d managed there. I’d already been considering letting the volunteer refugees go—a fellow called Adner’s been rightly insistent about recovering as much crop as possible—and that report decided me. Civilians will be at least as safe behind that glacis you’ve got as outside the walls here, so I told Fanche and Saefas yesterday the adults who wanted to help build and farm could go as soon as you were back. That’s the bustle I expect you saw.”

            Kel had been prepared to make exactly those arguments about crops and safety, and was delighted to find herself anticipated.

            “Thank you, my Lord. The eastern team and a hundred plus civilians will make a big difference.” She didn’t doubt more would volunteer but there were children to care for.

            Wyldon nodded. “Yes. And we’ll be able to get all remaining here inside the walls. There’s no sign of Scanrans but I’ve never been happy to have so many in tents. And with even a hint of a tauros, that doubles.”

            Appreciating Wyldon’s priorities and lack of complaint about having his well-ordered military command set about with hordes of children for weeks on end, Kel met his eyes as she nodded, conveying her thanks.

            “I couldn’t agree more, my Lord. As soon as the walls and gatehouse are done, I’ll make the cookhouse, barracks, and stables priorities. Then we can take the children back and relieve you of their care. But we will need food, I’m afraid. A lot of crops were trampled and though we should get a second lot in, we’ll not have half what I was hoping for.”

            “Fair enough, Mindelan. The quartermasters know that and the livestock recovered from Haven is doing well enough, so you’ll have that as well as whatever game you bring in.”

            “And kitchen-garden stuff, my Lord. We’ve already planted one at New Hope. It’s bulk foods and staples we’ll lack, though Geraint did manage to recover some grain and rice from Haven.”

            “Understood.” He frowned suddenly. “We’ll need to think about your immortals, though. The basilisks can find stone enough, I dare say, but Vanget said he’d had enquiries from ogres and centaurs who’ve had problems with Maggur’s men. You look pleased.”

            “I am, my Lord. I’ve spoken at length with the Wildmage about the set-up at Dunlath, and I don’t see why we can’t make it work too. I’m hoping anyone—any being—who comes will be willing to fight, if only to protect themselves. But immortal refugees are still refugees, and the treaties mean we owe them protection, so I believe it’s my job as well as our advantage to recruit all I can.”

            “Hmmph. Well said. I only hope you feel that way when, what’s her name, Quenuresh turns up.”

            “It’s agreed?” Kel nearly kept her voice level.

            “ _She_ has. Food for thought, eh? General Vanget and the King will be wanting regular reports on how _that_ works out or doesn’t, gods forfend. Which reminds me I have your spellmirror. It’s set for Northwatch and here, and Vanget or I can bring in His Majesty by fire if needed.”

            Kel digested this. “Sir Neal’s not back for another week. Can one of Company Eight’s mages activate it for me?”

            “Yes, anyone with the Gift can and needn’t stay.” His fingers drummed on his desk. “I shall come with you to New Hope tomorrow. I’m meeting Vanget at Giantkiller the evening after to decide what we do there and I want to see that glacis for myself.”

            Kel nodded, surprised. “Very well, my Lord.”

            “Mmm.” Wyldon seemed to reach a decision. “Greendale, would you excuse us? Get started on the tauros warnings and post those extra sentries. I’ll join you shortly.”

            “At once, my Lord.”

            As the door closed behind him Wyldon gazed at her with a wry smile. “The thing is, Keladry, you’ve set us by the ears again. No, no, it’s nothing bad. The opposite, really. Giantkiller’s supposed to screen New Hope, as well as defending the Brown River valley, but from descriptions of your glacis they’re more likely to find themselves falling back on _you_ if things go badly.” He shook his head admiringly. “It’s Goldenlake’s rule about changing odds you don’t like, isn’t it? And you didn’t like the best odds we could offer you and your people. Astonishing. But having a fortification that strong in the Greenwoods valley changes the balance that made us build Giantkiller in the first place.”

            Thoroughly alarmed Kel sat very straight. “Wyldon, I’ll still be relying on _civilians_ to man my parapets. Are you proposing to transfer all the companies earmarked for Giantkiller to New Hope?”

            “Mithros, no.” His face went thoughtful. “Not yet, anyway. Could you take them?”

            Kel thought about space. “Yes, just. But that many extra barracks and stables would double the buildings we’d need.”

            “Mmm. I’m not sure it’s an option. Covering Riversedge and Tirrsmont from there would be a problem and we need a central fort closer to the Vassa. But if Giantkiller faces attack in force you’ll be the nearest refuge. And ours from here, come to that, so I have to see the place for myself.”

            That Kel understood: no commander could rely on the unknown. “Will General Vanget come on to New Hope from Giantkiller?”

            “I suspect so. He’s been wanting to meet you properly and doesn’t often get away from Northwatch.” Wyldon gave a slight smile. “If things stay reasonably quiet and we don’t get early snow you’ll have other visitors in September as well. The King’s agreed the Prince and Princess will visit New Hope after their wedding.”

            Kel’s eyes widened. “Really? Cricket didn’t say anything. Nor Roald.”

            “Cricket?”

            “Oh, I’m sorry. Princess Shinkokami. It was her childhood nickname and Yuki and I still use it.”

            “I didn’t realise you knew her _that_ well. Interesting. And I doubt she or the Prince yet know themselves. It won’t be announced until the last minute.” He regarded her curiously. “It’s a political decision, of course. Your report was very well received by the whole of Corus, I understand. Do you object?”

            Kel thought about it. “No, not at all. I rather like it, actually. And I think the refugees will too.” She hesitated, but they’d touched on this ground before. “I’m not sure His Majesty would get such a warm reception. The Tirrsmonters don’t feel too good about the nobility in general and the King’s the only authority that could overrule their liege-lord, but hasn’t.”

            “That’s understandable.” Wyldon’s hand clenched. “That man’s a disgrace to all of us and if I’d been burned or raided out I don’t think I’d be interested in explanations of why we can’t do anything about his bl—his incompetence. I’m sorry—Greendale’s setting me a bad example.”

            Kel looked at him affectionately. “I’ve heard worse, Wyldon. Even said worse myself, occasionally. And Mithros knows I’ve nothing but hard words for Tirrsmont.” She raised an eyebrow. “Was it going to be ‘bloody’ or ‘blasted’?”

            He huffed a little, then smiled, at himself as much as her. “The latter. It’s not because you’re a woman, you know. I dislike all profanity. Always have. My knight master was too often a foul-mouthed man and I vowed I would not follow his example in that regard.”

            If Kel remembered rightly Squire Wyldon’s master had been Sir Everhart of Haryse, whose prose was certainly choleric.

            “That must have been miserable for you.”

            He shrugged. “Done and dusted long ago. You should eat and sleep if we’re off at the crack tomorrow. Was there anything else?”

            She thought. “One thing, maybe. I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I’ve been trying to absorb the, um, divine interest there seems to be in events here. And one conclusion I reached was that I want a temple at New Hope, or at least proper shrines.”

            “That seems wise. To Mithros and the Goddess?”

            “Yes, but perhaps others as well. Shakith and Lord Gainel don’t usually have shrines but I wondered if it might be wise to honour them somehow.” She hesitated, then pushed resolutely on. Wyldon would not laugh at anything divine. “And Daine was telling me about her parents. Apparently Lords Weiryn and Gainel are friends.” His mouth quirked with her own. “I know. But I was thinking shrines to Weiryn and the Green Lady might be, um, a good investment. We’re in hunting country, needing game, and with the number of young women among the refugees we’re bound to have midwifery problems.”

            “Mmm. Yes, that sounds wise too, Keladry. But forgive me, how does it concern us now?”

            “Well, I was wondering if the Prince and Princess might bring a senior divine for a dedication.” She gave him back a wry smile. “If we can stage the ceremony at Mabon and Daine’s there, who knows what other guests might come?”

            He stared. “Setting the gods as well as us by the ears. Huh. I’ll pass the idea along. And it’s hardly a request the Archdivines of Mithros and the Goddess could refuse.” To her surprise he sat back, smiling as widely as she’d ever seen. “You really are a remarkable young woman, Keladry, and I’m most impressed with how you quickly you’re learning to think politically on top of everything else. The royal visit was Goldenlake’s idea, a good one, but you’ve refined it.” He looked at her consideringly. “You realise it will compound your personal fame considerably?”

            She flushed. “That’s not my intent.”

            “Oh I realise that, or I’d not have asked. But a first visit by the heir after his marriage, with our future queen, in acknowledgement of heroism by a personal friend of both in saving children and ending the killing devices, as well as properly thanking the gods—who are already known to have blessed you as Protector of the Small? People want good news from this war, and that’s going to qualify in spades.”

            Kel sat speechless, and when she did speak her voice was subdued. “I hadn’t thought of it like that at all. I just want my people to survive whatever it is that’s coming, and not thanking the gods when we know they’re watching doesn’t seem right.”

            “Just so. And the more celebrated you and your people are, the more the Crown will feel obliged to ensure you have the resources you need. It’s a virtuous circle, Keladry, and you seem to be learning it instinctively, in the best way.” Wyldon paused, seeming to debate with himself, then shrugged. “Frankly, for better or worse you’ve been a symbol for many people ever since you started as a page. And you’ve handled it exceptionally well, mostly by not realising your own potency. But you were always going to have to come to terms with your political status, and that you’ve proven yourself a first-rate commander at a time when we need such people desperately only makes that more urgent. If you want advice, don’t fret about it and do keep on just as you were.”

            She glared. “Easier said than done.”

            He chuckled. “I know. But I’ve learned to have faith in you, and everything’s easier on a full stomach and a good night’s sleep. I imagine King’s Reach and the others will have found the food I told the cooks to keep back. Jesslaw certainly will have, and you should too. I’ll walk you over and greet them before I go to Greendale. Come.”

           

* * * * *

 

The horses and ponies from Rathhausak meant all adult refugees coming to New Hope—nearly one-hundred-and-fifty, including most of the Scanrans—could be mounted, and they took the courier trail in a half-mile column, armed squads at point and rearguard but no scouts save for sparrows. Kel rode behind Wyldon in the van, admiring his warhorse, but though she was pleased to lead the refugees back to a new, safer home her mind was chewing Wyldon’s words and the bizarre dance of politics her straightforward actions seemed to generate.

            She couldn’t pretend unfamiliarity with the phenomenon. Her dream had been to be a knight, adventurously helping people, not to set the realm ablaze with extremities of praise and censure; but it happened anyway before she had the slightest awareness of it. Joren and Vinson had come to loathe her personally but they’d hated her before they’d ever seen her, as The Girl and, absurdly, a symbol of everything their fathers disliked about events older than she was—as had all the tedious, mostly third-rate knights who’d challenged her during the Progress. Her only response had been to be herself, letting hostility bounce off her Yamani mask and never complaining. It had served her well as Raoul’s squire, riding with the Own, and she’d hoped when she finally passed her Ordeal to return to the relative anonymity of muddy, happy service among Third Company’s ranks. A part of her been cautious, remembering Raoul’s intimations of command, girls who’d watched her joust, and the Lioness’s flattering words on the night after her Ordeal about the example she’d set, but she hadn’t begun to imagine the situation she found herself in. Still worse was divine attention and she couldn’t wholly suppress resentful indignation at the turnaround it represented. The Lioness had walked with the Goddess to marvellous purpose, and within Kel the girl who’d dreamed of emulating her rejoiced at the idea of truly doing so—but Alanna had had a divine guide and her formidable Gifts as warmage and healer, and Kel was less than amused to find she was expected to endure similar difficulties with neither.

            But resentment got her nowhere and induced a sense of shame at impiety into the bargain. Thayet’s and her mother’s reactions to the deal the King had made her were also unsettling, as was the strange parallel between their belief she’d sold herself short and her own conviction of having let down those in her care. How was she to know what was proper self-confidence and political assessment, and what the arrogant self-assertion she’d always hated, in this brave new world that had such problems in it? By the time they came to the gulley that led to the Greenwoods valley and passed the challenge of Brodhelm’s scouts she’d decided Wyldon had again been right, and all she could sensibly do was carry on and let gods and politics do what they’d do anyway.

            The courier trail came into the valley just south of the fin, so she could point out to Wyldon the corral and anticipate his reaction to first sight of New Hope as they wound back into trees for a half-mile before emerging onto greensward above the rapids. She was eager herself to see the progress and when Wyldon abruptly slowed, directing his horse to stand off the trail, she followed suit, waving the column on and ignoring the exclamations as refugees saw their new home.

            The sight was all she could have hoped for. With a second building team at work even the five days she’d been away had seen dramatic transformation. The outer wall was complete, base bristling with the heavy, close-set spikes of an abatis that gleamed with the sharp edges of obsidian, captured Scanran banners that had hung from Haven’s walls standing out colourfully; along the western face the inner wall was beginning to rise, extending from the heavy timbers of a gatehouse. At the junction of the walls the outline of the tower was visible, and distant hammering and sawing could be heard. On the glacis work parties secured by ropes were packing and smoothing mud, while a basilisk—Var’istaan, she thought, from its size—was petrifying dried rendering, careful movement in a rope cradle punctuated by rumbling echoes of the rock spell. Other parties were digging out the moat, which extended along most of the western face; working on the roadway to the ford; and, with glimmering magecraft and the occasional sound of St’aara shaping stone with a spell that sounded like a gravel, on the central arch of the stone bridge that now all but spanned the Greenwoods.

            Further up the valley the walls of Haven had disappeared with most of the buildings, leaving the burned-out infirmary and one work party strangely visible. Those timbers would have to go, Kel decided instantly, and had a sudden vision of how they could be used to surround the mass grave at the centre of the knoll, where the flagpole still stood. A swirl of breeze showed her her own flag at half-mast, and she felt a rush of gratitude to Geraint and his men, who honoured the ground they trod even as they reclaimed all they could. Wyldon followed her gaze.

            “Your orders?”

            “Not specifically, but I told Geraint about the grave, and that we’d make the knoll New Hope’s burial ground.”

            He nodded again. “More good thinking, Mindelan. And by Legann. But _that_ ”—he gestured towards New Hope and its glacis—“is astonishing.” He looked at her intently, then at the busy scene below where the squad on point and the first refugees were crossing the ford, slowing to examine the bridge and talk to the work party. “Godfrey of Carent, who leads the eastern building team, said flat out this place would be harder to take than Northwatch, but I didn’t believe him. Nor Harailt, for all he described it accurately. Foolish of me. Tell me again how this was done?”

            She described the co-operation, Numair and Harailt lifting and shaping heaped stone section by section, as a child shapes sand, and the basilisks, boosted by power stored in black opals Numair provided, roaring overlapping spells that fused rocks for hundreds of feet into the pile while everyone kept their distance, sheltered from the echoing spells by mages of Company Eight.

            “Huh. Remarkable, and important. Is a black-robe mage necessary, do you think?”

            “No. Without Numair _we’d_ have needed far more mages, I suppose, but if you were bringing in well-broken rock, rather than reshaping a mound already there, you could build up from the ground, bucket by bucket. It’d be slower but if you had the basilisks you’d hardly need any other magecraft at all.”

            His eyebrows lifted. “So you wouldn’t. When word gets round basilisks are going to find themselves in demand. Did it exhaust them?”

            “Not really. Tire them, yes, but the rock-spell and its variants don’t seem to use up their magic as they would for mortal mages. Or perhaps they have so much any depletion didn’t show.” She looked at him. “I’ve been chary about asking that sort of thing directly but it’s on my list of questions. I did discover from Tkaa that the male, Var’istaan, on the glacis, is courting St’aara, on the bridge. Her son Amiir’aan will be working on the surfaces within the walls, I expect—he can do the spell perfectly, but can’t cover the same sort of area.”

            Wyldon’s face was unreadable. “The adult basilisks are courting?”

            “So Tkaa said. Or deciding if they’re going to court. Basilisks mate for life, apparently, so as they’re immortal they don’t choose fast. He also said Amiir’aan’s father was killed more than a century ago, in the Divine Realms, but wouldn’t say how, only that St’aara might be ready to court again and would certainly be considering her son’s needs. I was surprised because I was thinking of Amiir’aan as pretty young, given his size, and hadn’t quite equated that with ‘only in his second century’.”

            He blinked. “You’re serious?”

            “Entirely. Daine says it’s the same with dragons and _they_ aren’t regarded as adults until they reach their twenty-first century. It puts things in perspective, rather.” She carefully kept a straight face without resorting to her Yamani mask. “Tkaa’s in his four-thousands, and travelled the mortal realms extensively before the Human Era began. St’aara and Var’istaan are both an epoch or so younger.”

            She saw Wyldon’s lips twitch. “Such precision, Mindelan. If Tkaa would co-operate, or other immortals under treaty, perhaps we should have it as a question for the Big Tests. ‘Estimate the age of this being to the nearest epoch.’”

            Kel let a grin show. “I’m not sure Lord Padraig would appreciate the answers, Cavall.” His lips twitched again. “And there’s another side to it.” She sobered as the last refugees and rearguard cantered past. “We know spidrens grow and breed the fastest of any immortal but Daine says they also have the shortest life expectancy. If they don’t kill one another competing for food and mates they get themselves killed by mortals for the same reasons. Like young centaur bucks trying to get gifts to win mares, I suppose, but worse. I thought it was interesting both St’aara and Quenuresh want somewhere safe for their young.”

            He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I don’t mean to embarrass you, but did they know of you as Protector of the Small?”

            “Var’istaan did. He mentioned it.” Even to herself her voice sounded resigned to the Chamber’s unwieldy label. _When did that happen?_ “I don’t know about Quenuresh.”

            “Hmm. It’s a point to bear in mind. I don’t believe we’ve ever seen the young of different immortals interacting—even at Dunlath.”

            They set off again, catching the guards and rearmost refugees at the ford. Kel made a point of introducing Wyldon to St’aara, thanking her as well as the party from the building team for their work—an easy task as the bridge was decidedly impressive, with the keystone of the final, central arch just emplaced. The senior builder backed her up with equal sincerity, explaining that the basilisks’ ability to shape limestone blocks far faster than masons could manage and bond the voussoirs of each arch as soon as they were in physical contact had enabled them to dispense with a form as well as slow-drying mortar, turning a month’s work into a week’s. Wyldon was his punctilious self in greeting and thanking all, and Kel knew the refugees lingering to listen were absorbing their example.

            Splashing up the far bank they trotted behind the rearguard towards the base of the glacis, greeting the parties heaping and grading the roadway or laying flagstones. When they came to the bridge over the moat Wyldon again reined in, staring at the stone-lined trough studded with sharpened stakes that gleamed like the abatis. Petrified spoil was steeply piled on the outer side, increasing the difficulty of crossing it. Kel halted Peachblossom beside Wyldon’s horse, then kept pace as he moved on slowly, looking carefully about as they rounded the sharp corner and began to mount the glacis. The drop on the outer side grew as the warhorses’ heavily shod hooves rang on the stone.

            “We paved the roadway with a thin layer of petrified mud straight away for safety, but the bridge party’s next priority will be a series of traps right along here. Pits six feet deep and twelve long, across the full width, staked, with cross-supports mined with mageblasts to support wooden roadway over them. I’ve also wondered about blazebalm with mageblasts to fire it along the inner wall.”

            Wyldon winced but nodded. “The whole thing will be a killing field.”

            “It has to be. There’ll be a pit within the gatehouse too. And I shall certainly be following the example of the younger Lord Grogar with bags of rocks suspended from the merlons. Thank you for putting me on to Orchan, by the way.”

            He nodded acknowledgement, gesturing ahead to where the last refugees were vanishing from sight. “I saw you’d taken his advice about turn, narrow, and rise. You’ve improved on him, though. I can hardly begin to calculate what would be needed to assault this place.”

            Kel never stopped such calculations. “Magery. Failing that, mangonels or trebuchets, giants, anything with wings, and a force sufficiently large and disciplined to take heavy casualties and keep coming. Or enough _beserkir_. Fire too—but the walls will be stone and I’m hoping for stone roofs on every building.”

            He blinked and stared. “Too heavy, surely?”

            “Not with stone pillars. The basilisks’ rock spell is very precise and directional when they want it to be. Build in wood, petrify selectively.”

            “Mithros. You _are_ thinking well.” He rubbed his forehead as if to clear it. “Anything else up your sleeve?”

            “Mined rockfalls around the valley, especially above the road north. It might be possible to knock out siege engines before they arrived; even a command or mage group. And whatever else I can think of or comes to hand. Centaurs could shoot and run from the trees, or sally from the corral. I’m not sure what ogres can do but if Quenuresh proves willing there have to be all sorts of uses for spidren webbing—bundles of it stored on the alures to drop on attackers to start with. Cases of griffin-fletched arrows there too, and griffin-feather bands to cancel illusion spells. I still have most of the feathers I was given for raising that little monster I was idiot enough to rescue at Owlshollow.”

            “Huh. I’d forgotten about that.”

            “Lucky you. The scars on my hands remind me every day.”

            Making the sharp turn where the roadway narrowed they breasted the steep rise and the noise of carpentry abruptly increased. A score of men were labouring within the framing timbers of the gatehouse, floors taking shape. Geraint, working one end of a large saw, waved swift greeting but didn’t stop, and they rode through the forest of timbers to the broad shelf, New Hope spread before them. Wyldon would have reined in again but the noise was too loud for conversation and at Kel’s gesture he followed her down the path to the main level. Some buildings were only foundations but to their left the messhall lacked only a roof and along the fin stables, a headquarters building, and eight barracks had begun to rise, parties working on all of them. Commissariat wagons defined a central eating area, and tenting to one side dormitories and latrines; wagons that must have come with the eastern building team stood in rows, laden with seasoned timber. Horses were neatly picketed along the foot of the eastern shelf, hay spread before them, and refugees and guards were gathered in a knot around Brodhelm. Seeing them approach he pushed towards them as they dismounted.

            “My Lord, my Lady. You travelled safely?”

            After a fractional glance at Wyldon, who merely nodded, Kel answered. She commanded here.

            “We did, thank you, Brodhelm. All’s well? You’ve done wonders.”

            “No problems, my Lady, nor any sign of Scanrans. And it’s been Masters Geraint’s and Godfrey’s men who’ve done wonders. Godfrey’s at Haven, supervising the last dismantling, but he’ll be back soon. Do you have orders for these new hands, my Lady?

            ‘I do, Brodhelm. Let’s take care of that now.” Many refugees had followed the captain anyway and Kel could see Saefas pushing towards her with a fierce look. “It won’t take a minute.”

            “Lady Kel.” She thought Saefas might have embraced her had Lord Wyldon not been there and found herself clapped heartily on the arm. “We don’t know how you did this but it’s a wonder.”

            “And a comfort, I hope. But as you see there’s a lot of work still to do.” She raised her voice to cut through banging and rasping from the barracks. “People, listen up. Right now the weather’s dry, which is good as none of us have a roof to sleep under. That has to be fixed, but your priority is crops. Adner, as soon as everyone’s eaten take whoever you need and get to it. What equipment do we still have, what do we lack, and what are the urgent tasks? Assign work parties as you will, and if there’s anything you need that someone else has, ask Captain Brodhelm here or Master Geraint, who’s working on the gatehouse, or Master Godfrey, who’s over at Haven. Questions?”

            Adner shook his head. “No, Lady Kel. I’ll know by this evening exactly what we’ll need for tomorrow.”

            “Good. Tell us all when we eat. Anyone Adner doesn’t need, now or tomorrow, you’re building. The only exception is Zerhalm and anyone he picks to help with horses. All others, unless someone in authority asks you to work on the walls or glacis, you’re on barracks and stables. Captain Brodhelm will introduce you to the foremen here on the main level. Work to your strengths but take direction from them—they’re very experienced—and if you really think someone’s missing a trick, ask politely. They’re interested in getting it done, I’ve found, not ignoring good ideas. All clear?”

            It was, and she held up a hand.

            “Security. Before anyone does anything, even Adner, you’re all going to listen with both ears to Captain Brodhelm brief you on patrols and sentries, where’s off-limits, and who needs to know where how many of you are. _Everyone_ is counted out and back in. No arguments and no messing, or someone’s in trouble.” They grinned though they knew she meant it. “Next, Captain, I’m sorry to have to tell you Steadfast had a report of a tauros attack. It’s not confirmed yet but we act as if it had. Warn your patrols, please, and brief _everyone_ tonight on tauros prints and other fieldsign. No-one goes out of sight in less than a group of five with at least one steady archer and pole arms.”

            He nodded, grim-faced. “My Lady.”

            “One last thing. You all knew we had basilisks helping here and now you’ve seen them. The lady at the bridge is St’aara. Her son, petrifying mud over there and sneaking looks at us between times, is Amiir’aan, and he’s a sweetie. The big fellow working on the glacis is Var’istaan. St’aara. Amiir’aan. Var’istaan. Remember the names and get them right, please. They’re good people—good beings—and they’ll be staying to make their way among us and continue helping.” She surveyed them under lowered brows. “I doubt any of you need telling that arguing with a basilisk is a dumb idea, but if you have a problem, or might have a problem, or even imagine a problem you could have somewhere down the road next time there’s a week of Tuesdays, you _come to me_ , as soon as may be. I don’t expect trouble, and I do think that if you’ll give a seven-foot beaded lizard who’s sweated hard to build this place for us all a chance, you’ll find we have three immortal friends, and maybe more to come.”

            Their concentration was fierce and she couldn’t see any dissent, though some looked more dubious than thoughtful.

            “But if there _is_ trouble, of whatever kind, you stop right there and tell the basilisk, this goes to Lady Kel, now. And if you see someone else forgetting that, remind them, as forcibly as you have to. And I’ll tell you one more thing—these basilisks and other immortals who may come are refugees too. They signed treaties and kept them faithfully, and the Maggot didn’t care any more than he did about your homes and families and livings. Yes, they’re immortals, and sometimes they scare me too, but they’re _our_ immortals and they’re going to scare Maggot a whole lot worse if he comes calling.”

            Ending, she felt a shiver as if someone had walked over her grave, but her line got the cheer she’d worked for, and she waved Brodhelm to carry on while collecting Wyldon with her eye. She led him to the inner corner of the main level, then down to the cavemouth where a corporal stood guard, right hand bandaged. He saluted awkwardly with the other.

            “My Lord, my Lady.”

            “You’re here in case anything comes _out_ , Kelner?”

            He nodded. “Yes, my Lady. Just to be safe, like. We’ve some lamps inside but haven’t explored, and I cut my hand so the captain put me here today.”

            “Sensible. How’s the hand?”

            “Oh, not bad. Healer Morri just wanted it rested for a day or two because the cut was deep.”

            He sounded glum and Kel clapped him on the shoulder, smiling shared frustration with healer caution before leading Wyldon through the slanting entrance to the cave. Numair’s lightball had long faded but an oil lamp burned on the floor just inside with others, unlit, standing ready if needed. Kel lifted it high and saw stone spears gleam though the surface of the pool remained as dark and still as ever. Wyldon stood at her side, looking round.

            “This is good, too. Water and a retreat at need.” He breathed deeply, wetted a finger, and held it up, slowly turning it. “Air’s moving. That’s what Kelner meant about exploring?”

            “Yes. The basilisks like it. Amiir’aan’s done some looking and says there’s a lot of cracks and little passageways. St’aara’s promised they’ll check it out properly as soon as the buildings are done. Meantime”—she shrugged—“there’s no other cave at ground level in the valley that could connect, not that anyone can find, anyway, so it didn’t seem a priority.”

            “Fair enough. Those stone formations are impressive.”

            “Yes, I’ve never seen the like, but Numair says they happen in big limestone caves where there’s water.” She angled the lamp to show the matching spears studding the roof above the pool, and smiled. “You should have seen Kitten—she made them light up with little beads of light, all spiralling round. Very pretty.”

            “Kitten? Oh, Veralidaine’s dragonet.”

            “Yes.” Checking Kelner hadn’t followed them in she punched him lightly on the arm. “It’s just Daine, Wyldon. It wouldn’t kill you to say it.” He looked his surprise. “She doesn’t like the full form. I think it reminds her of people in Galla who’d use it with her Sarrasri surname to needle her about not having a da.”

            “Oh.” He frowned. “I can see that. Thank you for telling me.” After a moment he added with a smile, “Besides my stuffy habits I suppose I thought it an impudence to use a diminutive now she goes by Weirynsra. And while I’ve come to know her quite well, at the Palace and with this war, I wouldn’t say we’re close.”

            Kel smiled back gently. “Just unbend a little, if you would. She doesn’t like formality any more than Raoul.” He snorted. “Why not ask her about your horses and dogs sometime?”

            Leading the way out, with a word to Kelner, they climbed the path and up again to the cistern and gurgling spring.

            “We’ll pipe water directly to infirmary and cookhouse. The slope should give us a decent feed. And the overflow trough runs through a pipe at the end of the eastern wall to supply the moat.” She walked along the terrace for seventy or eighty yards to a wide, shallow bay in the cliff where the trough cut straight across, leaving an irregular crescent of unpaved scree between it and the limestone. “This is where I thought to put shrines. Niches in the rock, as in Yaman and that cliff-temple at Port Caynn. Some woodsmen refugees are fair hands at carving.”

            Wyldon studied the area. “Yes again. You’ve an excellent eye for possibility. This whole interior layout is first-rate.”

            Warmed by his praise Kel smiled and they went on along the terrace, then round to the eastern shelf, where postholes marked the line of the inner wall and picketed horses looked up at them, towards the busy frame of the north tower. As the noise of hammering grew louder Wyldon turned to her.

            “Let me wander on my own, Mindelan, and take it in. I appreciate your argument for alures on the outer wall but I’d like to see the angles myself. Then I want a closer look at what they’re doing with that glacis.”

            She left him to it and after eating threw herself into work. Knowing from experience the carpenters wouldn’t welcome her fumble-fingered help and mindful of Duke Baird’s cautions about overworking her shoulder, she resigned herself to latrine duty, releasing a more able pair of hands, and spent a smelly hour loading the soil wagon. It wasn’t dignified but after their initial surprise the Company Eight soldiers she was with began to show appreciation of a commander who didn’t shirk unpopular jobs, and cajoled details of the night-attack on Rathhausak. After that she spent time with Amiir’aan, joining the men fetching and spreading mud for him to petrify into clean, flat stone and raised paths, before the return in late afternoon of Master Godfrey. He proved as pleasantly efficient as Geraint, and after offering thanks for his work and respect for the dead at Haven they had a satisfactory discussion about using timbers from the burned infirmary to frame the mass grave. Then Adner returned from inspecting fields, for once smiling. More crops might be recovered than he’d hoped and though ploughframes had burned at Haven the shares had survived, as had equipment stored in fieldsheds. He agreed with her about the bottomland north of the fin and promised to start its cultivation at once.

            With everyone working all the hours of daylight time flew. Wyldon left at dawn next day for Giantkiller, accompanied by squads from Mastiff and followed down the roadway by Adner and nearly a hundred refugees intent on getting a second crop sown. Kel fell into her day’s work, lugging soil buckets, fetching mud from excavation of the moat, and helping carry timbers from laden wagons to wherever they were needed. With the stone bridge complete St’aara and that party began on roadway pit-traps, half by half so people could pass. Var’istaan and other parties were busy facing the glacis but with fifty-odd additional pairs of hands—many experienced in woodwork—to help the bulk of two building teams, barracks and stables seemed to fly up and the messhall acquired a low-pitched wood-shingled roof.

            Three days after leaving, Wyldon and his escort returned with General Vanget and his, and Kel had the pleasure of welcoming her superiors to a fort visibly taking proper shape. In person the haMinchi general was as cheerfully bluff as he’d been by spellmirror, full of congratulations on the rescue and building. After giving him the tour and outlining various additions to the defences she had in mind, he expressed grimmer approval and sat with her and Wyldon on the terrace by the cliffs to discuss wider strategy. Against the wishes of many, who thought it bad luck, Giantkiller was being rebuilt with an additional wall and earthworks but not enlarged, and would continue as a central shield for Riversedge and what remained of the Brown River valley population. The timber freed would be sent to her and, when possible, a second regular company and no less than eight squads of convict soldiers assembling at Steadfast.

            “Frankly, Lady Knight, they’re volunteering in such numbers because they’ve heard about you and that their predecessors who were with you in Scanra have had their magemarks cancelled, so you rightfully get ’em.” Kel hadn’t heard that bit of news and was viscerally pleased for the men who’d redeemed themselves so valiantly. “Use your own judgement. If you want to keep them as loose squads, that’s fine, but if you want to make a full company out of ’em, go ahead.”

            She thought for a moment. “Full company, sir. It’ll be better for their morale.”

            “Well enough. Wyldon said that’s what you’d choose. And if you think that fellow Uinse you praised in your report is up to it, appoint him captain. I’ll confirm it. Elsewise I can send someone from Northwatch.”

            Very surprised at such patronage, Kel immediately opted for Uinse, whose capabilities as a leader she didn’t doubt though she thought he’d need help with paperwork, and thanked General Vanget warmly.

            “No, no, man’s earned it by all accounts. So have you, gods know. Now, less pleasantly, I’m afraid that tauros attack west of Steadfast has been confirmed. Two women dead, poor things. And there was another east of Northwatch. One victim.” He made the gods’ circle on his chest and Kel followed suit, murmuring a prayer to the Black God for the lost souls and trying not to think of how they’d died. “We’ve also had a report from Hamrkeng that they _were_ in Scanra, somewhere well north, but the Maggot somehow persuaded them to head down here. So there’ll be more attacks for a certainty until we can kill ‘em. I know the basilisks have done wonders, and we’ll see what happens with that spidren when she gets here, but tauroses I cannot abide.”

            He scowled ferociously, a sentiment Kel shared. She’d never been able to understand why any god would create beings whose sole purpose seemed to be raping mortal women, almost always fatally, and no-one she‘d met, even Numair, had an explanation either. Even stormwings, grotesque as they were, served a purpose and despite their stench and behaviour were a fiercely moral object lesson about the realities of war, however little humans heeded it. But tauroses were purely vile.

            “We’re also starting to see Scanran soldiers again north of the Vassa. No crossings reported yet but it’s only a matter of time. Maggot’s reasserted his grip, more or less. Had to do a lot of fast talking and kill at least one hostage, Sir Myles says, but if no-one’s happy about it they aren’t turning on him yet either. Whether he’ll be able to do more than raid before the snows is a toss-up, but for sure and certain he’ll be back in force in the spring, latest. So you keep right on fortifying for all you’re worth, Lady Knight. Sooner or later you’ll need these defences.”

            He ate with them that evening, listening as she updated everyone on tauros attacks and additional resources and soldiers, before giving a speech—brisk in praise of what had been achieved, unsparing in assessing continuing threats, and cheerfully blunt about how’d they’d be met. He left next morning for Northwatch, and before leaving himself for Mastiff, Wyldon, eyeing the state of barracks and stable, promised to send the remaining adult refugees, children, and livestock the following week, when Neal returned from leave.

            Then it was back to her developing routine, from dawn practice and renewed weapons drills with refugees to meals in the completed messhall where she came to know the soldiers of Company Eight better. She also had discussions with the basilisks, and after careful experimentation they found that Amiir’aan’s as yet low-powered rock spell, directed over a wider area, petrified only the upper quarter-inch or so of a one-inch wooden shingle. Thereafter he added the low-pitched roofs to his work-load, and the adult basilisks had no difficulty petrifying the supporting pillars to take the extra weight. The process spawned another activity, woodcarvers among refugees and building teams insisting the messhall be left for last and snatching time in the evenings to carve its pillars with simple, dramatic panels telling the tale of Haven’s fall, the rescue, and New Hope’s rise. Kel thought their depiction of her went beyond flattery to the absurd, but everyone was so pleased with the results, the refugees fiercely so, that she did her best to acquiesce with a smile.

            By the time August began with heavy showers the glacis was fully faced and the moat complete. It took a day to fill before the last section, below the gatehouse, brimmed and the overflow began trickling along a shallow sough to the Greenwoods, but everyone was happy with the results. Inner wall, gatehouse, and north tower with its bridge were also substantially complete, and the killing field between the walls studded with petrified spikes. St’aara and the party building roadway traps were reinforced, and men from the building teams released to the remaining barracks, internal structures of headquarters, and smaller buildings—forge, woodsheds, and latrines.

            News of a sizeable Scanran war band that all but besieged the soldiers working at Giantkiller until companies hastily despatched from Mastiff and Northwatch could drive them off with heavy casualties delayed the arrival of the promised column from Mastiff, but as the second week of August began horn-calls from one of Brodhelm’s patrols announced them. Kel had thought carefully about how to handle the children, and while Adner and others relieved Jump and the knowing dogs of bellowing, bleating, oinking, and clucking livestock, driving some up the roadway to pens prepared in the eastern corner of the main level and others to the corral beyond the fin, she had all the refugees, the knights, Connac’s squad, and the convict soldiers wait by the bridge over the moat. She spent a while greeting friends of all ages, hugging Tobe, patting Jump, and congratulating Uinse, self-conscious but proud and determined in a new uniform with captain’s insignia, and once the noise of the animals abated with distance raised her hand to command silence.

            Concentrating on children and dogs she gave graphic descriptions of the spikes concealed beneath the water of the moat and what they would do to anyone, two-or four-legged, who fancied a swim, then bluntly reminded women and girls about the tauros threat and laid out her standing orders about never being out of sight unless in strength and appropriately armed. Satisfied they’d absorbed the warnings, she hoisted a happy Meech to her side and walked them up the roadway, explaining the traps, emphasising the sheer drop on the outer side, and collecting the work party and St’aara as they passed. Meech peered shyly from behind her arm at the tall basilisk, and when she reached the gatehouse Kel set him down, sent the children to line up along the shelf,  and used the guards’ horn to stop the building work and call everyone together. Brodhelm and his sergeants, Geraint, Godfrey, and the basilisks were clearly named and layout demonstrated. Going the other way she introduced Irnai, known from her report and accompanied by the marmalade cat, with wry instructions that if anyone heard the seer say anything unusual they should pay serious attention. Then, as work resumed, she took the children and animals to the slope above the cave, assuring them they would soon be able to go in as they wished, but flatly commanding them that it was as yet unexplored and strictly off-limits.

            The rest of the day was filled with happy chaos as carts were unloaded, barrack spaces claimed, and the new stables filled with horses and ponies. The piping shouts and laughter of the young, even the squabbles that broke out, and the various barks were a welcome change to Kel’s ears, and next morning, with extra soldiers boosting Brodhelm’s resources and supplementing work parties, she decided she’d done enough latrine duty for a bit and switched to childcare. Creating rosters for older to watch younger, a familiar routine, and recruiting Amiir’aan to help break down fear of immortals, she set them to work digging out a large, shallow pit, roughly three hundred foot square, in the centre of the main level. Basilisk-loosened scree was carried away to be piled by the inner wall, until it could be strung up in nets from the outer, and the excavated pit was gradually filled with soil and turfed with sod claimed from the field beyond the fin that Adner’s teams had ploughed. One of Brodhelm’s patrols was instructed to find and bring back four sturdy saplings, birch, alder, rowan, and ash, to plant in deepened corners; in the middle, where diagonal paths intersected, a circle of raised rock eventually housed a great flagpole, rising above the walls to be visible from much of the valley floor, and her flag from Haven was set flying. Archery ranges and a play area with a low fence were also established between the south-eastern side of the green and the terrace.

            The arrival of Neal, Merric, and Seaver improved Kel’s daily life dramatically, adding a distributed command presence that eased her workload. Uinse consolidated authority over his new company, working with Merric and Brodner, while Seaver began working with Company Eight’s mages and the hedgewitches among the refugees, and Neal claimed his healer’s domain in the infirmary. The knights’ presence also brightened Kel’s evenings with old acquaintance uncompromised by social deference or appeal to authority. Neal bemoaned separation from Yuki as during their engagement, but Kel thought marriage—and, she admitted to herself, the marriage-bed—had begun to mellow him. He’d always been kind; now he was more tolerant and while still given to dramatics somehow more relaxed even when vapouring. If her own bed remained a lonely refuge, the installation of Tobe in a small room next to her quarters, and his delight in the first private space he’d ever had, were compensations beyond measure.

            There were also clerks, wonderful clerks, to inhabit the completed headquarters and begin generating the paperwork that made army quartermasters and senior sergeants happy and would ensure New Hope’s smooth integration into courier and resupply systems. The spellmirror, thus far unused, was installed in a conference room near Kel’s new and to her eye needlessly spacious quarters, beginning a duty of regular reports to Wyldon and occasional summons to receive news.

            Ten days into this new dispensation Kel was packing turf around the rowan sapling when a hawk screamed close above. Waving and trotting to the headquarters building she climbed to her rooms and threw open her bedroom shutters. As she set out small clothes on the bed with a shirt and breeches the hawk perched on the window sill, and a moment after she’d politely withdrawn to the outer room a tousled Daine emerged, buttoning her borrowed shirt.

            “Kel, I can’t believe how much has been done. It’s fair wonderful. But catching-up must wait. Quenuresh is here.”

            Kel’s heart beat fiercely. “Where?”

            “In that old woodland. I told her you’d come to meet her with a small party of military and civilian leaders.”

            “Right. Follow me.”

            She clattered down the stairs and strode out, Daine behind her. A passing Gydo was sent at the run to tell Adner to meet her at the moatbridge. Then she walked a quick circuit, collecting Brodhelm and Uinse for soldiers, Fanche and Saefas for refugees, Zerhalm for Scanrans, and prompted by a sudden impulse, Irnai for children; she also took Neal as senior healer, and Seaver, whose father had been killed by a spidren. She’d spent hours over the past week talking with him about the alliances she hoped to form, and what she knew of Quenuresh; he’d had to grit his teeth much as she had forcing herself to face her fear of heights, but had become grimly determined to overcome his visceral repugnance. The fact that she largely shared it helped him, and when the small group rode down the roadway to collect a waiting Adner he was immediately behind her, face set.

            The woodland was a good four miles beyond Haven, and it was more than an hour after Daine’s arrival before they approached its eaves, dark with shadow even in sunlight. No spidrens were visible, but Daine had them dismount and picket the horses a hundred yards from the trees, and as they walked forward put fingers to mouth and gave a piercing whistle. They halted ten yards from the treeline, Kel and Irnai in the centre, with Daine in front, Seaver and Neal flanking them, the soldiers and civilians on either side. After what seemed an eternity but wasn’t more than a minute shadows stirred under the trees and the biggest spidren Kel had ever seen stalked slowly out into the sunlight.

            Most of the octoped immortals, though as much as four feet in legspan, stood no taller than two to three feet at their bizarrely human heads. Quenuresh’s head was at least five foot from the ground, jointed legs rising above it, and her body twice the usual size. Yet her face, surprisingly attractive, was if tense also more open than Kel had ever seen, and without steel teeth on display infinitely less threatening. Behind her a dozen smaller spidrens, one with four young riding its back, emerged to spread themselves warily along the treeline.

            Kel could hear deep, ragged breaths from Neal and Seaver on either side of her, but Irnai was calm and Kel kept hold of her hand as she carefully advanced behind Daine, controlling trembling legs with sheer willpower. Halting bare yards from a very still Quenuresh, whose gaze flickered from face to face, Kel offered a dip of her head somewhere between a nod and short bow, and stood waiting. Quenuresh looked her in the eye for a long second, nostrils flaring, then awkwardly dipped her own head and body. Her voice was low, not unpleasant, and Kel realised with muted shock she’d only ever heard spidrens speak—or shout and scream—in combat and in agony.

            “Godborn, you keep your word. Protector of the Small, your fame has reached my ears. This girlchild is unknown to me but bears the marks of Shakith’s chosen. She is Irnai of Rathhausak?”

            “She is. Forgive me, but how should we address you?”

            “I am Quenuresh. I claim no title.”

            Kel swallowed. “I understand you and yours would live with us in peace, offering harm to none and claiming the King’s protection.”

            “We would. In the divine realms I was a mage and scholar, and would be so again. All of us are tired of warfare and killing.”

            “That I can understand, for so are we all. But I believe the war—”

            Kel broke off because Irnai was walking forward, stopping only feet from Quenuresh. Slowly her hand rose to touch the huge spidren’s cheek. Quenuresh was utterly still but the spidrens behind skittered as they watched, surprise on their faces; what her own might look like Kel couldn’t imagine. Letting her hand drop Irnai spoke, her voice distant.

            “Your cheek is soft. I see no futures where you harm us, spidren-mage, but hazard comes all the same. Will you aid us when it does?”

            “I and mine will defend ourselves, and you, against any who enter this valley, Shakith’s daughter. This we have sworn to the King of this land, to stay his swords and fire sent against us. But we will not fight in mortal wars beyond our own home.”

            “The Protector asks no more.”

            Forcing herself forward until she stood beside Irnai, well within the spidren’s killing reach, Kel met Quenuresh’s eyes.

            “Does Shakith’s daughter speak true, Protector of the Small?”

            Kel’s voice was calm despite her churning stomach. “She does, Quenuresh. On those terms you and yours are welcome to New Hope.” Generosity worked best, she thought. “Yet there is much we must determine. Wise animals live among us, lawful prey for none, and livestock we need to survive. Basilisks dwell here and we hope other immortals may come. You know of the Council at Dunlath?”

            “I do.”

            “Though command here is mine it is in my mind we should do likewise and one seat on that Council should be yours. Do you accept it?”

            Quenuresh studied her for a moment, not concealing surprise. “That is more than I expected. I accept gladly.”

            “We must also guard against misunderstandings and accidents.” Kel swallowed. “There are those among us who have lost dearly to your kind. And you can have few reasons to trust us.”

            Kel felt Seaver come to her side and sensed others’ tension behind her. A sidelong glance showed her a face sheened with sweat. His throat worked and when he spoke his voice was harsh.

            “I am Seaver of Tasride.” He swallowed convulsively. “A spidren killed my father.”

            Quenuresh studied him warily, nostrils flaring again. “I am sorry for your loss, Seaver of Tasride. I have never dwelt in that place, nor any of my get.” For the first time the immortal hesitated. “I understand we are monstrous in your eyes, and I smell the fear in all save the Godborn and Shakith’s daughter. Yet you approach despite it, restraining your sword and Gift, and we speak as your father and that one of my kind who slew him never could. If it does not offend, I would honour your courage. And we have sorrows of our own, beyond counting, learned at mortal hands.”

            Kel laid a gentle hand on Seaver’s arm. “We understand, Quenuresh. It is our hope that your children and ours may be free of such sorrows, but we must be cautious if all are to prosper. Forgive my ignorance, but can spidrens sound a horn?”

            “We can.”

            “Then we will place one at the edge of your woodland, and should we need to speak with you, or you with us, its summons will be heeded. If a child of either kind were lost, and needed to be searched for, perhaps, or other aid were needed.” Quenuresh nodded and Kel swallowed again. “Will you also consider trading with us? I do not know what we might have that you need, nor what of yours we could use. But trust cannot grow in isolation.”

            Daine came to rest a hand on Irnai’s shoulder. “We discussed this a bit, Kel.” Her voice was dry. “Exchanges are certainly possible.”

            To everyone’s surprise a smile lit Quenuresh’s face, though a glimpse of steel teeth made it less reassuring that it might have been.

            “They are, Godborn. We hunt, but if we are not to trespass on your lands we need livestock, or to trade for food. Meat, but also cheese.”

            “ _Cheese?_ ”

            “You heard right, Kel. Cheese.” Daine let a smile show. “Seems spidrens have a taste for it but aren’t equipped to make it themselves.”

            “In return, we offer webwork and our ability to climb.”

            Kel’s fist clenched. _Yes._ “That is more than acceptable.” Amid her satisfaction she felt whimsy rise. “We must devise a cheese schedule.”

            Quenuresh nodded, eyes alight. “And one for webwork, Protector. I had hoped spidren web would appeal to one who must defend many.”

            “Oh it does, Quenuresh. It does.”

            Neal came to her other side, white but with a look suggesting he might be laughing about cheese later, and the spidren turned to him.

            “I am Nealan of Queenscove, Quenuresh.”

            Dark eyes studied him and nostrils flared. “You are the healer of Shakith’s daughter’s prophecy.” It wasn’t a question.

            “I am. I can also firespeak, though not over great distance. Seaver has lightcraft, and some training in warmagery. And you are a mage. Can you tell me in what your power lies?”

            “You ask much, Nealan of Queenscove, though you offer trust even as you ask it.” The immortal’s face was very still, no trace of humour remaining. “I know to hold this back would deny trust, yet it galls to speak it. Still, it must be. Beyond my webbing, I can speak over distance, not by fire, and when the barriers are thin, between realms. But my true power is of illusion and concealment.” She neither moved nor made any visible gesture, but faded swiftly where she stood into invisibility for a second and then returned. “Even as the dragons, I can move unseen through a city, and have done so.”

            The demonstration alarmed Neal and Seaver, and Kel could hear shocked breathing behind her, but she’d guessed from what Daine said that Quenuresh must be able to conceal herself and her kin effectively, and magecraft was the obvious answer. Calmly she took her griffin headband from her pouch and bound it over eyes and ears.

            “Would you repeat that spell, Quenuresh, staying invisible longer?”

            Slowly the spidren nodded, nostrils again flaring. “Yes. The virtue of the griffins I cannot wholly defeat, but I will do as you ask.”

            She faded again but to Kel’s sight an outline remained, the invisible body blocking woodland behind. She undid the band and passed it to Neal, then Seaver, summoning Brodhelm, Uinse, Fanche, and Saefas forward for turns. Irnai declined, smiling, and Quenuresh reappeared.

            “Well, Protector?”

            Kel made her voice brisk. “It is well, Quenuresh. We have comfort in the griffins’ virtue and you know of it. Yet I would ask your oath that you never seek to pass invisibly within New Hope without our knowledge.”

            The spidren looked at her curiously. “You would trust an immortal’s word, Protector? We have no gods to swear by who will bind us as the Great Gods bind mortals.”

            “I would trust _your_ word, Quenuresh.”

            “Then you have it. And likewise, no mortal mage shall seek to enter our wood unseen.”

            “Agreed.”

            Swiftly Kel named Brodhelm and Uinse as captains, Fanche, Saefas, Adner, and Zerhalm as civilian leaders. Quenuresh nodded gravely to each, repeating names, and studied Zerhalm closely, nostrils flaring.

            “Zerhalm of Rathhausak, you have the Gift to heal animals, though not as the Godborn does.”

            He blinked. “I don’t rightly know the Godborn’s powers but that sounds about right.”

            “It is possible you might also heal us, for that is a magic we lack. Should need arise, are you willing to attempt it?”

            Kel had not anticipated this and looked at Zerhalm anxiously, but as he overcame his surprise he shrugged.

            “I’ve never healed a spider, never mind a spidren. Never tried, nor had the chance. But I’ll leave no animal in pain if I can help, and I can’t see I’d refuse to help one that was hurt, less’n you’d given me reason.”

            “I ask no more, and offer thanks.” Quenuresh looked at Kel. “The young of every kind are vulnerable to injury. Shall I name my kin?”

            As the other spidrens slowly came forward and were introduced, emotions eased. All were Quenuresh’s children or grandchildren, and all were female. What had become of the males no-one asked, but Seaver, still trembling, did ask the other question in everyone’s mind and to Kel’s relief Quenuresh only smiled slightly.

            “No, Seaver of Tasride, it is not with us as with mortals, passing down generations. If they live to number my centuries they will attain my size. But no mortal now living will see it, nor the children of their children’s children.”

            “How old _are_ you, then?”

            Quenuresh smiled again. “I have more centuries than you have years, Nealan of Queenscove, and the youngest here fewer months.” She gestured carefully with a foreleg to the spidrens less than a foot across who clung solemnly to their mother’s back, eyes wide.

            After her conversations with Tkaa and Daine Kel wasn’t surprised, but others were, mouths opening in shock, and she thought everyone had had enough surprises for one day. After agreeing with Quenuresh to meet the following morning, bringing the horn, she made a formal farewell, receiving the same, and the spidrens vanished under the trees. Kel didn’t think it was magic but how such a huge creature could be so easy to lose sight of was a mystery. As they reached the horses Seaver let out explosive breath and leaned against his mount’s side, face grey.

            “Gods, that was hard!”

            “You did it, though. And came to no harm.” Daine’s voice was mild. “Spidren or not, she’s brave and honourable. I used to hate and fear stormwings because the only one I knew truly _was_ a monster. But then I met one who died fighting alongside us at Port Legann, and he was one of the best beings I’ve ever known. He still stank worse than a midden, but now I judge every being as I find them, not kind by kind.”

            Seaver nodded weakly. “I don’t disagree, Wildmage, but I can’t stop what my gut feels.”

            Kel knew he would not be the only one. Her own nausea wasn’t far away, and she didn’t look forward to renewed contact with Quenuresh on the morrow. The matted hair and sharp bristles on her high-jointed legs were as repellent as Kitten and Amiir’aan were attractive, and Kel could not shake the vivid memory of another spidren biting a kitten in half. But she also remembered her sick distress hearing baby spidrens burning to death in caves bombed with blazebalm, and would not ignore any safe alternative to such slaughter. And above all, whatever her fears or anyone’s, she knew that with Quenuresh and her brood holding the woodland and the promise of webbing to bolster New Hope’s defences however proved possible, her people were safer tonight than last, and that was all that truly counted.


	5. Visitations

**Part II – Mabon**

_September – November, 461 HE_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Five — Visitations**

_1–24 September_

 

The remaining men of the building teams left at the beginning of September. Most had gone to Giantkiller a week before but the heavy gatehouse roof and multiple switchback stairways to the railed alures of the inner wall required specialists, and Geraint had stayed with them. Kel liked the man and would miss his good cheer but waved farewell with a light heart, glad to begin New Hope’s independent life.

            Civil and military routines were already established. Everyone trained with arms before breakfast and for an hour before the evening meal; fieldwork and replacing things lost with Haven occupied the refugees’ days, while Brodhelm and Uinse had sparrow- and dog-aided patrols ranging widely afield, as well as an intense programme to train convict soldiers to regular army standards. Neal was working through the men of New Hope Company One, in private occasionally exploding at evidence of unhealed injuries and untreated disease but doing much to nurture the liking and trust Kel’s fairness had seeded.

            In the mornings children went to the schoolhouse where a surprised but willing St’aara kept order and two clerks ensured all could read, write, and do basic maths. To his mingled disgust and delight Tobe was among them. Other lessons depended on who was free and what they could think of, but between them Neal, Seaver, Faleron, Esmond, an infinitely mellowed Idrius Valestone, Saefas, and Kel herself were gradually covering Tortall’s geography and history, neighbouring lands, healing and the body, magecraft, animal care, tracking and hunting, trade and business, and making and reading maps. Kel ruthlessly recruited for occasional lessons—cooks, seamstresses, hedgewitches, smiths, a shocked Uinse for moral tales of what not to do (or at least, how not to be caught doing it), and a bashful Connac, whose hobby was drawing. For some children it was a first experience of education and for most a welcome return to something that if not normal was at least ordered and dependable.

            Relations with Quenuresh prospered. A round of cheese was delivered to the wood weekly, with meat when they slaughtered or caught enough game, while folded web-nets, spelled to be handled by mortals, were lodged in boxes along the alures. The first time Quenuresh entered New Hope the atmosphere was as tense as bearing cable, some people fainting and others unable to stop themselves vomiting; only Irnai and the basilisks yet felt remotely at ease with the giant immortal but when no-one was harmed and Quenuresh was unfailingly polite, as well as visibly working to bolster defences, fear and revulsion were slowly joined by acceptance and traces of strange pride. No-one else had spidren allies and all knew their experiment was of real importance. It was helpful that Amiir’aan, whom everyone liked, had no fear whatever of the spidren; nor, more oddly, did Jump or the sparrows. Kel herself had come to appreciate her strange ally’s mind and conversation, though her stomach still had its own opinion about proximity to a huge, hairy body and bristled legs.

            To Kel’s disappointment it had not proved practical to suspend rocks from the merlons using spidren web. It would decay over time, and were Quenuresh to be killed all her webbing would rapidly fail. Grumpily Kel set the older children to work knotting ropes and the younger to carrying rocks excavated from the central square up to the outer alures; once the filled nets were securely in place (with mageblasts to blow them open at need) Quenuresh won her renewed gratitude by crawling along the outer wall, cloaking each net in spells that left them invisible from below.

            A different satisfaction came from work on the shrines. The adult basilisks spellcut arched niches in the limestone of the shallow bay and the best seven woodcarvers, dragged away from increasingly elaborate decoration of the messhall, held Kel’s commission for statues. Lords Mithros, Gainel, and Sakuyo would all be honoured, with the Goddess, Shakith, and the Black God; in the centre a double-width niche would hold a double statue of Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. When Kel had asked Daine by spellmirror for her approval and whether the wedded gods should be shown holding hands, the Wildmage had laughed until her face was wet, assuring her that not only would her Ma and Da be delighted to hold hands, but that any god had the right and power to attend dedications to Themselves and if they didn’t show up for this one, especially with the barriers thin on the equinox, she’d ring down such a scold on them her Da’s horns would curl. Sobering, she’d added in a quieter voice that it would be her Ma’s first major shrine, and her Da had only a few scattered through the northern mountains of Tortall, Scanra, and Galla, small-scale work by woodsmen and their families, so both would likely have a strong proprietary interest. Kel still found a daughter’s irreverence for gods disconcerting but also felt without quite being able to say it that humour was a better companion for faith than either the fear she associated with the Chamber or the profound unease manifestations of divine power usually induced.

            The only real puzzle remaining was the cave. The basilisks had explored as far as they could, discovering a network of small chambers stretching away into the limestone but in every case finding the way blocked by cracks and passages too small even for Amiir’aan to pass, yet with air movement whispering of further connections. They had begun leisurely excavations but more, Kel thought, as a recreation than a task.

            That situation changed with the harvest moon when an extended family of aqua-skinned ogres hesitantly climbed the roadway to request shelter. Miners displaced from further east, peaceful, reserved, and roughly polite, they had been living under treaty since the Immortals’ War and Kel had no hesitation in accepting them and offering their leader, Kuriaju, a Council seat. There were abandoned mines in nearby valleys they could work when peace came; meantime they brought greater drive to exploration of the caves, stringing crystal magelights, levelling floors, and beginning to create useful spaces and open up some passages to discover what lay beyond. Kel also set Var’istaan and Kuriaju to work on a gallery in the fin, extending the alure of the inner wall at a right angle above the upper roadway. In the hard rock progress was slow, even with basilisk spells and ogre muscle, but well-sheltered firing positions covering the gates from a new angle were worth it.

            A few days after the ogres arrived a small herd of centaurs took up residence in the upper valley, pasturing horses on the grassland, living in the woods, and keeping themselves to themselves but agreeing, like Quenuresh, to fight anyone who brought war to New Hope. Their herdmaster, Whitelist, brusquely declined a place on any council, but when he saw the fine bowls and jars made by petrifying turned wood became keen to trade, offering griffin-fletched arrows and to Kel’s astonishment others in which ridged golds and coppers alternated with the metallic sheen of stormwing retrices. Such arrows were magekillers, and several dozen of each kind now resided in cases along the parapets, while week by week the reserve of broadheads and needlepoints with charmed fletching grew.

            The tally of immortals was completed soon afterwards when a tired Daine arrived one afternoon, again in hawk form, followed by a ringing cry that brought everyone out to see two huge brindled forms spiralling down to the green; between them a smaller version landed awkwardly and promptly trotted towards Kel. Ignoring Jump’s wary growl from a safe distance it reached her as Daine emerged from the headquarters building at a run, and when she knelt warily booted her knee and made a snap at her hand she barely avoided.

            “Oy! Little monster.”

            “Yes, he still is.” Daine’s breathless voice was amused. “But for a griffin that was affection all the same, Kel.”

            “Sure it was. And I’m glad to see him, I suppose.” She whipped out a hand to pluck an errant feather from the kit’s side, avoiding his reflex snap. “Got you. You’ll have to speed up.” The kit booted her knee again as she glanced up at Daine. “What’s the deal?”

            “They’ll roost for at least two years in one of the cliff caves and prevent anyone from gaining access to the cliff tops above here, but they won’t fight. They’ll give you feathers when they moult and the male says they’ll put griffin magic into the gate-lintel, if you’d like. It will reveal anyone who tries to enter under an illusion spell, and it’s much stronger than the feather-bands you use.”

            That was an offer Kel had no hesitation accepting, wondering what would be needed in return, but to her surprise Daine shook her head.

            “They don’t want anything, Kel. He says they recognise their debt to you and feel better offering something to repay it.”

            “Coming here at all more than repays it, Daine, and there’s the feathers as well.”

            “They don’t see it like that. They were about to move anyway and like the idea of river-fish for a while. And they couldn’t care less about moulted feathers. Just let them do it and they’ll get to cave-hunting.”

            Walking up to the gates in front of two adult griffins with the kit trotting beside her, Jump circling warily, and everyone except the duty watch at a respectful distance was one of the oddest experiences Kel could remember. Realising the crowd could be a problem with magic being done she swung round briefly to direct people to the outer alure, gatehouse roof, and what there was of the gallery in the fin, then resumed her escort. The adult griffins sensed the pit-trap in the barbican roadway, bounding over it, and turned to study the building from outside. Kel and Daine went to the road edge, safely out of the way, and shortly the kit scampered away from his parents to join them. With the palisades lined with excited faces, the adult griffins reared tall on their hind legs, wings flapping, and directed ringing shrieks at lintel and gateposts that made the stone glow bright copper before slowly fading. Even as it did an eagle eye and beak clap summoned the kit, who again booted Kel’s leg before trotting back to his parents, and all three griffins launched themselves off the outer edge of the roadway, spiralling up to begin flying slowly along the cliffs.

            Kel drew the first breath she remembered for a while. “That’s it?”

            “Yes. One Honesty Gate, all done.”

            “Honesty Gate?”

            “So Numair says. He’s excited and when next here will doubtless crawl all over it. They’re mentioned in old Carthaki books but this is now the first he knows of since griffins returned to the mortal realms.”

            Kel would have liked to hear more but Daine couldn’t stay. Quenuresh, however, aware of the griffins’ magic, came to test the spell. A wagon was placed just outside the gate, wheels wedged with blocks of stone against the steep slope, and while people watched from inside and outside the gate the spidren mage laid illusion spells on it. Those outside saw a procession of things appear—a shed, a lowing bullock, a huge boulder, and a tawny griffin—while those inside saw a wagon doing nothing at all. The experience of stepping out of the gate and back, wagon and illusion playing tag, was altogether disconcerting, as was the discovery that once under the lintel no-one, human or immortal, could tell even the whitest lie. The evident virtue of the Honesty Gate delighted everyone, but to Kel, recalling what she had once seen at Haresfield, as to Brodhelm and other veterans who also knew that gates were more often breached by treachery than assault, it was reassurance beyond price. Very much Commander Kel, she laid down standing orders that any and all non-residents arriving, of whatever kind or importance, must state their names and purposes standing under the lintel, with a declaration that they intended no harm of any sort to place or people.

            Thinking carefully that evening about what she’d done she contacted Wyldon at Mastiff, explained, garnering another surprised head-shake, and asked him to relay a request to Prince Roald—whose marriage had taken place the week before and should even now be half-way to New Hope with the new Princess Shinkokami of Conté and a retinue including Yuki and the Archpriest of Mithros. They were due on Mabon morning, and if (Kel argued) the Crown Prince and Princess were willingly to obey her standing order, a precedent would be set no-one could ignore. Wyldon took her point and, if yet again astonished, agreed to pass her request along.

            The next evening, making her scheduled monthly report to General Vanget, she was told Roald and Shinko had agreed at once. Smiling and shaking his head much as Wyldon had, Vanget commended her initiative warmly and said he’d make sure any officers he sent her way, of whatever rank or nobility, would know they were expected to comply without fuss. Evidently curious, he asked her to list her standing orders, and when she did from memory offered further praise and requested a copy be sent with her next written report.

            “You’ve some good wrinkles in that lot, Lady Knight. I’ve already adopted your tauros-threat rule of fives and pole arms, and that one about sentry rotation during shifts is interesting.” His face darkened. “There’ve been two more tauros attacks, by the way, west of here, so they’re heading your way.”

            “So noted, sir. I’ll reinforce my warnings to women and girls.”

            “Mm. And yourself, Lady Knight. In this you are also at specific risk. Blasted things. Now, what else was I … oh. Yes. Some unhappy news, I’m afraid.” Vanget looked down uneasily before meeting her eyes again and Kel’s stomach muscles tautened. “It’s nothing personal, Lady Knight, it’s just … it’s your yearmate Sir Quinden, Keladry.”

            Her heart sank at news and name. “What of him, sir?”

            His glance was keen. “Just Vanget, in this, if you will. Wyldon told me you’re on first-name terms so I’m bothered if I’ll stand on ceremony. Anyway, you rightly reported Sir Quinden’s slovenly behaviour on patrol and Wyldon reprimanded him. He didn’t mention you, of course, but given where that patrol was and publication of your report it wasn’t hard for him to guess who he hadn’t seen and he became grossly insubordinate. Wyldon transferred him to Northwatch for a last chance, which he’s failed to take.” He drew a deep breath. “I gave him two opportunities to improve but he’s a piss-poor excuse for a knight and a worse officer. I won’t risk men under him any more, so I dismissed him this morning.”

            “You _dismissed_ him?”

            “Sent him back to Corus with a note recommending he be denied any further service and ordering he never have command of men. But the thing is … well, he blamed _you_ , and swore you’d regret what he called blabbing. I thought you should know.”

            Kel stared, mind boiling, and found words she hadn’t intended spilling from her lips. “I’d send a copy of that note separately if you want it to arrive.”

            “What? You think he’d—”

            “Quinden of Marti’s Hill will do anything he thinks it his right to do. As a page he could never play fair and I don’t suppose he’ll start now.”

            He looked at her bleakly. “Right you are, Keladry. I’ll see it’s done. Gods. The Chamber ought to catch someone like that.”

            Her own look was bleak. “I prefer Kel. And the Chamber tests only for courage and a degree of flexibility. I know this is pushing a limit, but it imposes desperation, yes? You can’t do anything as everyone dies?”

            “Pretty much.” He looked at her with respect. “You have got guts, haven’t you?”

            She ignored him, though something in her revelled in his praise. “What the Chamber doesn’t do is _tempt_. If it had made Quinden king of all the world, with every woman and child helpless before him to do with as he would, it might have seen more truly.”

            There was a long silence before Vanget sighed. “Kel, eh? Very well. That’s a fearsome mind you have there, you know.” His face creased in a mirthless grin. “I heard from Numair about your advice to the king. And you were right about how we were thinking of the Chamber. But I don’t think His Majesty’s had any chats with it yet, though I believe Numair did manage a few words.” He thought hard for a moment. “This matters, Kel. Would you be prepared to talk to it again?”

            “Certainly.” She shrugged, though she didn’t feel that way. “But it’s always been me getting instructions, never the other way round.”

            “I don’t think that matters. I’d just like to know it’s aware of the problem.”

            “It’s not new, Vanget.” When his eyebrows lifted she spoke flatly. “Ansil of Groten. Arknor of Groten. Voelden of Tirrsmont. Belar of Heathercove. Guisant of Torhelm. Given the chance to kill me without consequences every one of them would take it. Others too. Tirrsmont tried to run me through during a joust, and Guisant once said to my face I should be raped to death and thrown on the nearest midden.” His face was pale; she had no idea what her own might look like. “If the test were chivalry, not brute courage and sufficient cunning, not one of them would have left the Chamber alive.”

            “Gods. What an indictment.” He again dropped his gaze, then lifted it painfully to meet her own. “Can’t deny any of it though. You name the most unpleasant knights of the last twenty years. Don’t know any of ’em that well but they all have vile reputations. Torhelm’s a compulsive womaniser by all accounts, like Runnerspring, and Tirrsmont’s no better than his father. I heard about him trying to run you through. Wyldon was livid. Went on about it for weeks. So did the Queen, and the Lioness went the same colour as her eyes. You really think Sir Quinden’s of that stripe?”

            “At page camp he was always trying to sneak up on me at the female latrines, and not just for some mucky thrill. What he wanted was a woman unawares and in no position to fight. And he’s a pincher. My maid at the Palace told me a dozen women at least got bruised cheeks from him, and sometimes worse. He also thinks spitting’s a clever remark.”

            “Gods.” A look of extreme distaste very like Wyldon’s occupied Vanget’s face. “Alright. I’ll discuss it with the King but I bet he’ll think it should be you who talks to the Chamber. I don’t imagine you want to leave New Hope, but even without _this_ matter he’ll want you in Corus for Midwinter.” He raised a hand. “No good protesting to me. Think about it. I would in his shoes, and not just for this or to hear about your Scanran adventure firsthand. There’s Quenuresh and all your other immortals, and the visit next week. Other things too.”

            “Mmph.” Kel fulminated briefly but could see the inevitability of what Vanget said and came to a swift decision. “Humour me a moment. What’s the general picture, along the front and in Hamrkeng?”

            Vanget quirked heavy eyebrows but played along. “Stalemate mostly, while Maggur’s rebuilding. The armies investing Frasrlund and the City of the Gods are still there, and raiding parties continue west and east, though since your exploit and smashing up that little army in June they seem to be avoiding us between here and Steadfast. Wolfships hit some villages round Seabeth and Seajen, but the coast’s been quieter than we’d feared. Meantime Maggur’s pulling together another army, with every man he can rustle up—mostly from fiefs and clans in the far north, we think, where he’s taken more hostages.”

            “Do you expect to have to fight this year?”

            “It’s possible, but I’m thinking spring.”

            “So nothing over the winter?”

            “Not unless something very odd happens to the snow. You know no-one can move far after Samhain.”

            “I do, but if I have to go to Corus—and the other knights as well, probably—I’m still going to ask you to make sure that second regular company is here by the time we go. Brodhelm’s good, and Uinse’s doing very well, but the convicts still have a way to go, and even with all those men we depend on civilians to make up numbers on the parapets and for most of the support work.”

            “Mmm. Nothing’s likely to happen, Kel.”

            “I know but I’m uneasy. If I was a man I’d say I felt it in my water. And unless the snow’s very bad giants can move. Tauroses too.”

            “Point. Alright, I’ll do my best. I can’t see any real force moving in winter but I respect your unease. It was justified last time. And you’re right immortals might manage what men can’t.” He made another note. “Now, unless there’s anything else I must go.”

            Kel wasn’t happy about having to winter in Corus but couldn’t realistically do more and knew her fears of disaster in her absence— _because_ of her absence—were more nightmare than reason. Mulling it over, she pressed Wulfric and Leoten, the Company Eight warmages, to make more mageblasts and with Var’istaan’s help a work party rigged blazebalm bombs at fifteen-foot intervals along the roadway. Small kegs were set in hollows in the bonded rock, packed round with coarse gravel and concealed by petrified squares of the thinnest wood carpenters could produce. Others were scattered through the killing field between the walls. The whole business was nasty, inducing acute distaste in Kel as much as Brodhelm, Uinse, and the knights, but it was another defence that didn’t rely on manpower and she would not pass up any advantage.

            Kel’s good humour was restored two mornings later, when the ogres working in the cave broke through a larger crack to find a substantial chamber—deep, wide, and very high-roofed, reaching up perhaps two hundred feet. It was another useful space, but what really pleased her was the secret it disclosed as day wore on—a dim patch, almost at the top, that was indisputably sunlight. Politely asked for help, with a proffer of additional game, Quenuresh sent one of her kin to clamber up, silver claws biting into the rock, and drop a web-ladder for Kuriaju’s smallest son to climb bearing ropes and spikes. It took a while, but before sunset Kel knew that with a slight scramble and squeeze there was a way through to the cliff-face, just above a jutting lobe of rock that hid the opening from the ground. The ogre managed to lob a painted pebble over the edge, and they found it on the terrace between the shrines and livestock pens.

            Sitting that evening with basilisks, ogres, and the dozen miners among the Tirrsmont refugees Kel described what she wanted—a look-out post, big enough for two people, safely parapetted, with a vantage over the valley far better than gatehouse or north tower could offer. Forewarned was forearmed, and from that height it should be possible to see any movement on the track that ran to the Northwatch road long before it would be visible elsewhere. Limestone was far easier than the harder fin to spellcut or cleave with crude force, and the following day work began on a slanting passageway that would spiral up to the space that admitted daylight. It would take time, but by evening Kel could contemplate a dozen feet of twisting excavation opening another dimension of her command.

 

* * * * *

 

Neal knew privately from Yuki what was in the wind, but how to prepare New Hope for Roald and Shinko without anyone realising they were coming was a puzzle that occupied Kel for half-a-day before she realised it was simple. All the statues she’d commissioned were done except Lord Weiryn and his Green Lady, that carver having abandoned hand-holding in favour of a less challenging pose. His second attempt had the divine couple with inner arms around one another and outer ones outstretched, Weiryn holding a bow, the Green Lady the spiral emblem of the Goddess-as-mother, and Kel goosed the man into renewed efforts by announcing at dinner that she’d managed to secure a senior divine to dedicate the shrines at Mabon. After she’d remarked that besides innate respect due a priest he’d be New Hope’s first non-military visitor no-one was surprised to hear she wanted everything spick and span. The next days saw brooms and paintbrushes wielded, armour scoured, and heavy traffic at bathhouses and laundry. Guest rooms in headquarters and the barracks that remained unoccupied were also spruced up.

            Refugees and soldiers alike were keen on the shrines, knowing  Irnai was god-touched and those who’d been at Rathhausak with Kel, like the Scanrans, were convinced she’d had divine blessings on her mission. Respect for Lord Mithros and the Goddess needed no explanation and Shakith was accounted for by Irnai, but Kel was asked by many about her unusual choice of other gods to honour. Each time she said simply that Lord Gainel had sent visions of Blayce to guide her, necromancy offended against the Black God, and if it were not for the Godborn’s gift to Haven of knowing animals no-one would have been rescued at all, adding a thought about the advantages of good hunting and safe childbed. About Lord Sakuyo she said only she’d grown up in the Yamani Isles respecting their trickster god and didn’t propose to stop now.

            Those who’d seen Daine magicking animals at Haven accepted Kel’s explanation without demur, and newer arrivals who’d seen the Wildmage in hawk-form agreed she was more than a mage. Quite a few were roundly unconvinced of Daine’s supposed parentage even so, the notion that the Green Lady had been an unwed Gallan peasant mother until she was murdered by bandits eleven years ago being neither sensible nor respectable, but the practical advantages of better game and midwifery appealed even to them. Kel didn’t mention Daine had promised more astonishing guests than a priest or even a Crown Prince and Princess—an idea that still seemed absurd to her—but did spend time with the carver as he finished up and was relieved to see the results were rather good, even in the delicate matter of divinely loving expressions.

            On the morning of Mabon eve Kel did two things, the first to put her foot down about the messhall. The panels telling Haven’s and New Hope’s story had long been finished, but the woodworkers had become addicted to pillar-decorating and every exposed wooden surface that could be reached now sported vines, animal heads, images of resident immortals, and abstract patterns. Declaring it complete at breakfast to groans of protest she called on the amused basilisks, who spent the morning transforming load-bearing pillars and beams not into the rough grey stone of walls and gatehouse but a smooth crystalline rock so fine it was translucent, in colours from sunset red to forest green. Kel thought the results looked good, children were entranced, and everyone else happy or not saying otherwise. Amiir’aan then set about the roof and by evening the fire-arrow-proofing of New Hope was complete.

            The second thing was to collect the escort required by her standing orders, ride Hoshi briskly up to Spidren Wood, and blow the horn. It was only a few minutes before a smaller spidren emerged cautiously from the trees, but took longer for Quenuresh to be summoned. Apologising for the late notice and honestly pleading security concerns Kel told the immortal what would be happening on the morrow and formally invited her and all her kin to attend. Quenuresh hadn’t been especially interested in the dedication of shrines, though she approved of one to Weiryn, whom she said in a dry voice was helpful as gods went, but a Tortallan royal in the direct line was another matter. Sceptical all the same of what cheer seventeen spidrens might add to mortal festivities, she agreed they would come to New Hope in the morning. Kel asked her to relay word to the griffins, with whom she alone, save Daine, could communicate directly, and she promised with a half-smile to do so but took leave to doubt they’d be any more interested in royals than she was in gods. Kel tended to agree, but hoped anyway.

            She spent the afternoon in a tour of inspection, warning the head cook he should expect a larger high-table next day than anticipated, as well as catering for extra guests whose number made his eyes widen before narrowing in calculation. Grinning, she told him to keep his suspicions quiet, authorised additional hunting parties, and continued through barns, infirmary, schoolhouse, cave, barracks, and stables before starting on gatehouse and walls. With the weather set fair, though the air was noticeably cooler, she let the children decorate and watched as bunting was strung and bright streamers fixed around the trunks of the four saplings.

            After an evening meal dominated by people getting up to peer at some colourful bit of carving Kel called her captains and knights, with St’aara, Var’istaan, Kuriaju, Fanche, Saefas, Adner, Zerhalm, and Irnai to the headquarters’ briefing room and told them who was coming. Neal was smug, others surprised, impressed, pleased, and in Uinse’s case dumbstruck, and they went over arrangements Kel had drawn up as soon as she’d had confirmation of the visit. Squads were sent to finish preparing barracks accommodation, and a roster for standing guards (and guides) for important guests was drawn up. Kel anticipated no trouble, but knew the surest way to invite it was to leave things undone that might be taken care of beforehand, and after running again through her mental checklist spent a dreamless night.

            The arrival not long after dawn of Wyldon with an escort squad drew thoughtful looks, particularly from those who saw him quietly but warmly greet Lady Kel, unobtrusively seek hot food, and subsequently keep out of everyone’s way, entertaining Jump while hovering around the gatehouse. The arrival in mid-morning of the spidrens caused more unease, lessening as to everyone’s relief (and Kel’s private satisfaction at good planning) they settled on the central grassed square and were joined by ogres and basilisks for what looked like a good immortal gossip. The royal visitors were coming by the Great North Road and had camped overnight where it crossed the Greenwoods, so it wasn’t much later when horn-calls followed by an excited patroller announced their presence. An experienced soldier born in Corus, he had recognised not only the royals but the Archpriest of Mithros, Master Numair, and Tkaa, as well as the flying fossil Bonedancer (who had nearly caused a riot when first exploring the city’s markets but since become a popular sight). Word spread like magic and by the time the visitors passed the fin, collectively blinking astonishment at New Hope’s towering glacis and walls, and reorganised to climb the narrow roadway, the outer alure, gatehouse roof, and every possible vantage point were packed. Even the arrival of the griffins, spiralling down with ringing cries to sit with the other immortals, caused only a brief stir.

            Roald and Shinko led the column up, holding hands and looking to Kel’s eye purely delighted to be married at last if astonished by what they were seeing. They wore fine but practical riding clothes, in Shinko’s case a split skirt over sturdy leggings, and were followed by the elderly but spry Archpriest, robed in orange and yellow, Numair in black, Daine in an elegant tunic and breeches holding Kitten’s paw, and Lindhall Reed in red with Bonedancer perched on his arm. Behind them came a court party, including Yuki in an outfit like Shinko’s, Tkaa, and to Kel’s delighted astonishment both her parents in formal Mindelan colours. Their faces were Yamani masks but when their eyes met hers the leap of pride in her was evident and shy happiness bubbled in her breast. And behind the court party trailed a body of servants and the five squads of the Own’s Second Company who hadn’t been to Steadfast in July.

            Orchan’s turn, narrow, and rise was excellent for making attack more difficult and did just the same for friendlier approaches, so Kel went out to meet them, flanked by Brodhelm in dress maroons and Wyldon, whose public subordination to her in her command did not go unnoticed. Stopping a few feet up the rise, to leave herself clearly visible to all on roadway and alures, Kel bowed and formally welcomed the Crown Prince and Princess with Archpriest Holloran and all the guests, thanking them for the honour they did New Hope and introducing Brodhelm; Wyldon they knew. Roald’s eyes glinted with humour as he replied, also pitching his voice to carry.

            “Lady Knight Commander, Captain Brodhelm, Lord Wyldon, the honour is ours.” He offered Kel a hand, and Cricket her cheek to kiss. “My wife and I have heard much of your valour, Lady Knight, and of New Hope, including the wonder of your Honesty Gate.”

            On cue Kel explained with careful brevity and clarity her standing rule, and the royal couple came beneath the lintel to state their names and declare sincere good wishes for New Hope’s safety and prosperity. Archpriest, mages, basilisk, and court party followed in order, though Kel could see Daine restraining Numair from an evident desire to leave aside formalities and start examining the gate. Perhaps fortunately, he was distracted when Bonedancer, still on Lindhall’s arm, briefly glowed a deep copper colour when carried under the lintel, to its jaw-clattering and Kitten’s warbling delight, and Numair fell instead to speculating about interference between divine and immortals spells.

            Though everyone was co-operating in the staged performance it took time, and within the shadow of the barbican Kel was able to greet her parents properly, her father’s bearhug and moist eyes testimony to the more jagged emotions he’d felt on her behalf since she’d last seen him. Roald and Shinko seized the chance to ask her if Quenuresh was present, looked anxious when told she was, and sighed relief on learning all New Hope’s immortals were well within and the only immediate greetings would be of mortal commanders.

            When the important guests were through Kel led them to the shelf where the knights, Uinse, Fanche, Saefas, Adner, Zerhalm, and Irnai waited in their best. Bows and curtsies were received, kind words murmured, and hands shaken, royals warmly gracious and commoners surprised at their easy manners and deeply intrigued by Shinko. For Zerhalm and Irnai there were formal welcomes to Tortall in King Jonathan’s name, extending to all Scanran-born refugees and pitched to carry to the crowd building around them as people streamed down from the alure. Daine and Numair were familiar faces but Kitten’s decision to mindspeak greetings startled and pleased everyone, though Bonedancer received sidelong looks. Neal’s and Yuki’s embrace was greeted with laughing cheer and interested stares, while Kel’s parents, to her mingled pride and embarrassment, were received with fierce pleasure by all New Hopers; if Fanche stopped short of thanking them for conceiving her it wasn’t by much and the enthusiastic applause left Kel flushed. Seeing over massed heads below the shelf the griffin kit and Amiir’aan solemnly nose-to-nose, the basilisk with a spidren youngling clinging to his back, it was, she decided, high time to deal with immortals.

            She led the guests down to the main level and the crowd parted to clear their way. Roald and Shinko both gulped as they saw how large Quenuresh was, and Archpriest Holloran went whiter than his hair. Kel murmured reassurances, praying they and everyone would be able to cope, and when rescue came from an unexpected source wondered if the gods really were listening. Kitten had also seen the young immortals standing nose-to-nose, and after a quick glance at Daine scampered forward to add her snout to the colloquy. Bonedancer took wing, flapping after the dragonet amid alarmed sparrows, and Kel had to suppress laughter bubbling with relief when it decided Quenuresh’s broad back offered the best perch from which to peer at the improbable circle of young immortals. Quenuresh didn’t seem to mind, merely rolling her eyes, and Kel felt everyone’s fear ease. The adult griffins, however, who had little if any sense of humour, were looking as impatient as always, so Kel went to them first, bowing and announcing Roald and Shinko with their full titles before briefly naming Archpriest Holloran, the mages, and Tkaa. The griffins nodded only to the Crown Prince and Princess, looking regal themselves, and to Tkaa. Daine came forward to Kel’s side.

            “Your Highnesses, they’re pleased to meet you and ask you convey to His Majesty their appreciation of his policy towards immortals.”

            Daine’s voice was formal until she added in an amused undertone that that was only the gist but griffins did have strong feelings about orderliness and approved of the treaty system. Roald didn’t miss a beat.

            “It is my pleasure to meet you both, and to see your son again prospering with you. I will convey your words to my father, and in His name thank you for honouring our realm and us with your presence here today, and for creating New Hope’s Honesty Gate.”

            Shinko, face alight with wonder, dropped a curtsey and added her own pleasure in meeting them. Kel thought there was a certain satisfaction in their beak-claps but it didn’t stop the female immediately uttering a squawk of command to the kit, who glanced round, shook his head firmly, and went back to his conference with Amiir’aan and Kitten. The adult griffins looked at one another, managing to convey a resigned parental shrug, and leapt into the air, wingbeats mussing hair and flapping finery until they were high enough to begin their usual spiralling ascent. Junior was clearly thought safe to leave in his present company, and while Kel had her doubts as to whether it would be safe from him took a breath and moved on to Quenuresh.

            Even deep-seated visceral fear of a very large spidren at arm’s length was challenged by the sight of a grinning white fossil perched on her back, wings bating as Quenuresh bent foremost legs and dipped a shallow bow. Though her nostrils flared slightly as she sensed Roald’s measure of the Conté Gift, and much more widely as she glanced at Numair and Lindhall, she was as impeccably polite as usual and swiftly named her kin, who awkwardly offered deeper bows, before seconding the griffins’ praise of the treaty system. Roald’s genuine pragmatic interest helped him reply smoothly before enquiring if Quenuresh was finding life in New Hope’s woods satisfactory.

            “Certainly. Lady Keladry has been helpful and fair, working with mortals is an interesting experience, and the cheese is very good.”

            Roald and Shinko were aware of the part food played in the treaty and nodded, but explanations to the bug-eyed moved things along nicely. Leaving the spidren mage to discuss soft-ripening and blue-veining with Numair and Lindhall, Kel took Roald and Shinko on to the easier basilisks and ogres, all gravely polite, and finally the circle of young. Crouching, she introduced a solemn Amiir’aan and got the baby spidren clinging to his back to squeak its name. When Roald bent to greet them the griffin kit snapped at his hand, only just missing, and instinctively assuming authority Kel swiftly whapped him on the back of the head.

            “Behave, you.”

            He bated surprise but seeing her stern expression changed tack and booted Roald’s knee before turning his head to Kel and cocking it to invite a scratch. She complied, persuading a cautious Shinko to join her, and when clever Yamani fingers found the bony hinge beneath the short feathers of his jaw he crooned pleasure and began a deep rumbling.

            “He’s purring!” The look on Shinko’s face reminded Kel forcefully of the Cricket she’d known as a girl in the Islands, and she thought with real pleasure that her friend was already relaxing into her marriage.

            “So he is. Little brute.” Her voice was affectionate, despite keen memories of the blood lost feeding and grooming the kit. Roald grinned.

            “You’re putting that soft spot to amazing use, Kel. I was briefed about this place but it didn’t convey the wonder at all. And you’ve got me out of having to be back at Northwatch already, bless you. This is much better duty, though Quenuresh is going to take some getting used to.”

            Shinko blew out a breath, fingers stroking the kit. “She is, but lessening the spidren threat even a little is a boon. Kel, the Emperor’s extremely interested and wants to send someone to see how you’re doing it because spidrens have become a terrible problem on Wangetsushima. Would you mind?”

            “Of course not. It’s a bit nerve-racking because everyone has such visceral reactions, but as you can see people _do_ get used to Quenuresh and the others. After a while.” She gave them a crooked smile. “If your stomachs have settled we should get on with lunch, and I think I’d better attend His Reverence. He’s looking a bit lost.”

            Archpriest Holloran was more astonished than upset, and happy to pepper Kel with questions about how she had come to be on such terms with so many immortals, drawing in Tkaa while Roald and Shinko went on greeting people with the bemused court party in support. Not wanting to spoil the surprise of the messhall decorations at the evening feast Kel had arranged for lunch to be, while hot and plentiful, finger-food that could be served outside—rolls, handwiches, and in Shinko’s honour _karumetou_ cake, for which she’d hoarded sugar from her rations (and Neal’s, when he gave her grief about vegetables). To drink there was spring water and to Kel’s mind that was fine; New Hope had enough, barely, and until their crops started coming in luxuries were scarce.

            Once Holloran had a plate in hand she steered him to Irnai, sitting with Kitten, Amiir’aan, and Junior, and suggested he seek their opinions of mingling kinds before adding he should watch his fingers with the griffin and slipping away to join her parents. Being diplomats to the core had not made meeting Quenuresh any easier for them, but beyond their happiness in seeing her both were entirely delighted by the compelling evidence that Kel was following in their footsteps after all.

            “We’d seen flashes of it, dear, in the way you’ve always treated people and the things I learned at Steadfast made me wonder. But I hadn’t anticipated this marvel.” Ilane exchanged a look with her husband and waved a hand. “This astonishing fort, yes, from all you said about it, but despite your letters we didn’t really understand what you were doing. You didn’t say _anything_ about how much all these immortals obviously respect _you_ specifically. And the people love you.”

            “You’ve made us both very proud, Kel. I hope you know that.”

            “Oh Papa.”

            “You have, dear. But don’t cry, please.” Her mother smiled. Or I shall too, and it would be too entirely rude, as Yuki would say.”

            Kel dabbed her eyes, not feeling very coherent. “You don’t know how much … and after I—”

            “No, no, none of that, Kel.” Her Papa was serious for all his joy. “Your mother told me you tried to apologise to her and I won’t have it any more than she would. Honour’s all very well but if it binds you to doing something dishonourable it’s worse than useless. If you hadn’t gone after those poor refugees no-one would have blamed you, but I’m so glad, so proud you did.” He frowned. “And I agree with Thayet. That deal the King made you is grossly unfair. I can see why you’d accept it but he ought to be _rewarding_ you, not salving his conscience.”

            Through blurry eyes Kel saw her mother lay a hand on her father’s arm and thought he might have said something more, but had to set the puzzle aside when Holloran reappeared.

            “Baron, Baroness. Lady Knight, I’m sorry to intrude on your family reunion.” He smiled. “And to drag myself away from those charming young immortals you adroitly deposited me with. That griffin kit is a handful but young Amiir’aan is very well-spoken and Skysong always interesting. Still, I really do need to talk to you about the ceremony and see the shrines I’m to dedicate.”

            “Of course, Your Reverence.”

            “Oh, just Holloran in private, please. I get reverenced to death half the time when it’s Lord Mithros to whom respect should go.”

            After learning to use the bare ‘Wyldon’ an Archpriest wanting to dispense with protocol presented no problem. His reason also appealed and Kel smiled warmly. “And Keladry, then. Or Kel. The shrines are on the terrace. We could walk over but I ought to give Their Highnesses a tour.” She stood, looking round for Roald and Shinko.

            “They’re talking to Numair and happy to wait on us.”

            “Alright, if you’re sure.”

            He was, and they went, Kel’s parents joining them. She gave Holloran the same explanation of her choice of gods as she had everyone, and he nodded thoughtfully.

            “Honest reasons and very proper, despite the odd mix. I’m afraid I know little of Lord Sakuyo. Is there anything special I ought to do?”

            Kel didn’t think so and explained about the Yamani trickster, her parents chipping in as they crossed the green and ranges, detouring round the playground to the broad steps up to the terrace before the shrines. The crowd watched with interest but respectfully afforded space, and when it became clear where they were headed politely pulled back further to afford Kel some privacy. As they reached the terrace Kel simply gestured with her arm: all the statues had been emplaced the night before, and if the carving was homely by Corus standards the genuine feelings of the makers shone in their power and dignity.

            “Oh my. These are very good.”

            Stepping carefully over the trough Holloran went from statue to statue, bowing to each before peering closely and reaching out to touch or feel the smoothness of the niches. For Lord Sakuyo, shown with a wide smile and laughing eyes, he did the same but then went to one knee.

            “Lord Sakuyo, I am Holloran, a priest of Lord Mithros, here to dedicate all these shrines. Forgive me my ignorance of your customs, High One, and if there is anything I should do to content you of which I am unaware please tell me that I may do all as you would wish.”

            Kel and her parents murmured ‘So mote it be’ and he rose, walking back to the statues of Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady.

            “I confess, Keladry, it’s _these_ High Ones who worry me. Their daughter says—you’ve no idea how odd that makes me feel—they will be, ah, attending in person. Manifesting, in fact.” He took a breath. “And of course that’s right and proper. Lord Mithros graced his temple in Corus when it was dedicated, and there are records of other gods doing as much from time to time. But it hasn’t happened in Tortall in living memory and no-one I’ve asked has any knowledge of _two_ gods manifesting simultaneously, nor of any married gods at all. Lord Weiryn I’ve known about most of my life, of course, but I’ve never served him. And no-one knows anything about the Green Lady because she’s so new!”

            Kel quirked an eyebrow. “Daine does. She lived with her Ma till she was thirteen.”

            Holloran blinked. “Well, yes, but—”

            “I know she wasn’t a goddess then, but Daine says she remembers being human in a way most gods can’t.”

            He sighed. “Yes, we had _that_ discussion. Her attitude to all the Great Gods is, um—”

            “Distressingly irreverent? Yes, I found it so too, at first. I still do, most of the time, if I’m honest. But since the Chamber of the Ordeal pitchforked me into the paths of Lord Gainel and Shakith I’ve learned to appreciate it. She’s an amazing woman, you know. How would _you_ react if you found out your da was a god and your ma just became one?”

            Holloran blinked again and Kel’s laughing eyes found her parents’, who grinned in unison.

            “I’ll also say that if the gods’ attention has taught me anything it’s that there’s nothing anyone can do about it. They’re _gods_. They do as they will, and they’ll hurt whoever they must in the process. But they also seem to want me to succeed in something. Rathhausak was part of it but there’s something else not done yet, so I don’t think they’d allow this dedication to be upset. And I’m sure neither of Daine’s parents want to shame her, so why don’t we go ahead and see what happens?”

            “Oh my. You’re very direct, Keladry.” Her parents laughed softly and she glared. “But I can’t disagree with your reasoning. The Lioness said much the same, and she did meet both of them, apparently, at Daine’s and Numair’s Beltane wedding. Oh well. On we go, then.”

            They went, and Kel gave the chief guests what was becoming her standard tour, though not with so many people being guided nor such a crowd cheerfully following. On the main level numbers weren’t a problem but for the inner allures and gallery Kel restricted admission to a small group, and at the cave. Kitten, however, pursued by Bonedancer, insisted on joining them at that point to give her lightshow with the stalagmites, and in the recently discovered further chamber Bonedancer soared towards the roof, discovered he could get through to the open air again, and circled round several times, collecting the sparrows as he did so. Trying to use a narrow passage while a flying fossil and a dozen sparrows insisted on going the other way at speed proved somewhere between impossible and heartstopping, but Lindhall eventually managed to get the excited revenant to watch Kitten’s continuing entertainment and an amused Daine persuaded the sparrows to calm down.

            While they were watching the spiralling light Roald called over Holloran and had a quiet word with Kel, whose eyes widened. She hurriedly despatched guards to find the people needed, and once the party emerged back into the daylight led them to the terrace. Fanche and Saefas were waiting with puzzled looks, as was Zerhalm, and a disgruntled Tobe soon appeared, a grinning guard telling Kel she’d been right to think he’d be in the stables meeting the guests’ fine horses. Ignoring the growing curiosity of the crowd who sensed something else they hadn’t known about in the wind, she guided the boy to her parents, made introductions, and crouched to speak quietly. They’d discussed this several times and his decision had been firm. She’d written to her parents and received their blessing, as they warmly confirmed now, so papers had been sent to the Corus magistracy. But she hadn’t thought in terms of today and Tobe’s eyes grew round as saucers.

            “ _Now?_ ”

            “Only if you want, Tobe. We can wait if you’d rather.”

            Her answer was arms flung round her neck and she had to resist scooping him up, contenting herself with hugging him back. A glance at her mother had Ilane quietly laying a hand gently on Tobe’s shoulder, and Kel took the few paces to stand in front of Roald and Shinko and eyed the crowd. She raised a hand  and they fell silent with gratifying speed, looking at the assembly on the terrace with avid curiosity.

            “People, it turns out there are some things planned that even _I_ didn’t know about, so listen carefully now.” Laughter swept through them at her chagrin. “I’ve told you all before now that His Majesty was very impressed by the way everyone handled themselves in Scanra.” They sobered, and nods could be seen far and wide. “Knights and soldiers are trained for war, and have a sworn duty to protect. But the civilians who did so much to help us, and themselves, did so with little training and infinite courage. In token of that, Crown Prince Roald has some special purses to present to four special people with His Majesty’s thanks. Without all of them we wouldn’t be here today, and that’s the truth.”

            The applause and cheering as Fanche, Saefas, Zerhalm, and a scarlet-faced Tobe were honoured and rewarded was entirely deafening. In other places with other crowds there might have been jealousy or resentment at individuals chosen in part as representatives, but everyone at New Hope had either been there or heard more than enough to know Kel spoke true; that these four had contributed to the great rescue in ways no others could have achieved. Kel was bursting with pride tempered by acute butterflies, and when Tobe stood blinking at the velvet bag in his hand she went to his side and laid an arm across his shaking shoulders. Her parents followed to stand behind them.

            “And there’s one more thing.” She took a breath, hand squeezing the boy. “Legally speaking, Tobe’s been my indentured servant since March, when we met in Queensgrace. But he’s become far more than an indispensable help to me. He’s my son in all but name and he’s come to count me as his ma, so today we put it right. By the King’s grace, and with my parents’ delighted consent, he is today Tobeis of Mindelan.”

            The silence was absolute as they knelt together before Archpriest Holloran for the blessing that sealed the legal papers Roald and Shinko had brought; the roar that followed might have lifted roofs if they hadn’t been stone. Kel waited it out before raising a hand.

            “I couldn’t stop you all celebrating if I tried and I’ve no wish to do so, but please remember we still have serious business this evening—so keep it clean and sober, will you, for everyone’s sake?”

            They did, but it was a close-run thing.

 

* * * * *

 

Replacing the usual Mabon harvest ceremony, dedication of the shrines took place at sunset, day and night balanced, barriers between realms at their weakest. Kel stood on the terrace to one side of the shallow bay with Roald, Shinko, Daine, and all the guests in best finery; she wore her owl-embroidered kimonos, attracting startled looks as she walked to her place. Irnai stood beside her in a simple, richly coloured blue dress Kel had given her, and Neal behind her with Yuki in Queenscove kimonos; Tobe stood with her parents, looking dazed and fingering a Mindelan tunic that had belonged to her nephew Lachran as if it might suddenly vanish. On the other side of the bay immortals, including Tkaa, Kitten, and a surprisingly well-behaved Junior, formed an impressive group rising from younglings through smaller spidrens and Quenuresh to tall basilisks and taller ogres. Below them on the main level all the soldiery save a duty watch stood in company formation, armour gleaming, officers to the fore with Merric and Seaver. Civilians packed round, well-scrubbed children within the low fence of the playground and equally well-scrubbed adults massed behind, spilling back to the green.

            An act of dedication was not in itself complicated. An offering was made, a prayer said; what counted was sincerity, not splendour. Even a simple home shrine, no more than a token of the god wetted with a drop of beer, might receive the musical chimes signalling acceptance by divine power. Kel had had warring impulses, to honour the gods as richly as she and New Hope could afford, and to maintain simplicity in keeping with refugee poverty and the minimal fuss she preferred. As the scale of ceremony had sunk in she’d inclined to the richer option, wanting to impress in keeping with Roald’s and Shinko’s status, but in the end sensibly split the difference. Archpriest Holloran had little jugs of good wine and bags of clean grain, some of the first from New Hope’s own fields, and had strongly approved her choices.

            She found herself holding her breath all the same as he completed his prayer to Lord Mithros and stepped forward to pour out grain and splash wine on the base of the statue. But the chimes were immediate and louder than she’d expected, with a stranger noise behind, a distant fury of battle, clashing arms and cries in combat. She saw Holloran’s face pale and heard the collective gust and rustle as everyone made the gods’ circle. Strong voiced, Holloran gave thanks to his patron for his acceptance of the offering and turned to face the crowd, face alight.

            “I have heard that noise of far-off battle twice before and it is Lord Mithros’s own voice. Beyond doubt he watches us tonight, and tells us all that you of New Hope are in his care.”

            The shrine to Mithros was to the left of the central double-width niche, and in deep silence Holloran crossed to its other side where the Goddess stood. His prayer wasn’t the mealy-mouthed afterthought Kel had grown used to the Goddess receiving in military circles devoted to strength and fighting prowess but as full as his prayer to Mithros, invoking the beauty of the maiden, fertility of the mother, and wisdom of the crone. Stepping forward again he poured and splashed, and again the chimes came at once, this time woven with sounds of hounds moiling and belling on a scent. Holloran’s face was charged with fervour as he thanked the Goddess, and Kel could see the immortals showing surprise in quick glances at one another; even Quenuresh looked interested.

            Shakith’s statue was beyond the Goddess, blind eyes staring and the winged staff of prophecy in her hand. For this Holloran called Irnai forward: his prayer thanked the High One for her preservation and aid at Rathhausak, and she poured out the grain and wine. The noise that came with the chimes was the one Kel had heard from Irnai’s mouth when she had voiced the prophecy, great hawks crying somewhere far above, and for a heartbeat light crackled around Irnai, her hair standing away from her head. To Kel’s relief, and from his huffed breath Wyldon’s, the girl didn’t collapse as she had when greater power moved through her, though her face was remote as she walked back to Kel’s side, with a fey smile. Ignoring protocol Kel knelt to hug her a moment, smoothing her hair, and Irnai kissed her cheek before whispering that she was fine and freeing herself. Standing again Kel saw identical looks of approval in her parents’ eyes and Wyldon’s, and her worry dissolved in amusement at the thought of teasing her mother with the observation.

            After Shakith came Lord Gainel, in a sweeping coat with one foot on smooth ground and one on jagged spikes to represent his divided stance between divine order and mortal chaos. He never spoke to mortals directly nor entered the mortal realms and with his chimes there was no further sound, but to everyone’s surprise, including her own, Quenuresh jerked slightly and after a moment shook her head as if to clear it before announcing in a dry voice that the Dream King blessed their nights. Holloran had by this stage passed from exultation back to wonder, and after giving the god due thanks added a word to Quenuresh to acknowledge her conveyance of the divine message.

            On the other side of the funnel, nearer Kel, the shrines beyond Mithros’s were those of the Black God and Lord Sakuyo. When Holloran came to the Black God’s and bowed to the statue, a robed and hooded figure with no face visible, tension rose and he swallowed hard but didn’t delay. Grain and wine were poured and the chimes sounded, behind them the noise of wind soughing through bare trees, and behind that a silence so deep it burned in the ear. Gravely Holloran bowed, giving thanks, and before continuing to the next shrine turned to face the crowd.

            “Being unfamiliar with Lord Sakuyo I prayed here earlier asking that if there were anything special I should do the High One let me know. And while the Lady Knight Commander was showing us around this astonishing fort I found myself believing strongly that our offering here should be of _sake_ , the rice-wine of Yaman. Lady Yukimi found some, the clear liquid in this jug, and it seemed to me right she and Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Shinkokami, who have worshipped Lord Sakuyo all their lives, should make this offering on our behalf.”

            The crowd murmured interested understanding and approval as Yuki and Cricket, resplendent in kimonos and face-paint, moved smoothly forward. Used to Yamani masks Kel knew both were deeply moved and apprehensive, and could see a slight tremor in their hands as they waited for Holloran to complete his prayer mentioning the welcome strength of Tortall’s Yamani alliance and the grace of their future queen. Yuki poured the grain and Shinko, following Yamani custom, touched a finger wet with _sake_ to the god’s lips before pouring the jug’s contents onto the base of the statue. For a moment nothing happened and in the strained silence Kel felt her heart fill with alarm, but then the chimes sounded deafeningly enough to make everyone jump and over them a great peal of unearthly, booming laughter rang that made the pale stone of the cliff blaze with many-hued light.

            Recovering herself as sound and light faded, Kel saw Kitten bouncing with admiration and couldn’t stop a laugh bubbling out. Laughing themselves, faces shining, Shinko and Yuki curtseyed deeply to the statue and after Holloran’s strained prayer of thanks came forward.

            “Lord Sakuyo likes his jests, as you heard.” Shinko’s voice was intense but not loud, and Kel saw people craning to hear. “He is a most wonderful god and in Yaman many laugh at his tricks and those we play on ourselves in his name. But I know of only two people living who have had the grace of hearing him laugh, and there will be much wonder in my land when they learn he laughed here, in the hearing of so many.”

            The crowd had been shaken and didn’t know what to make of this, but Shinko herself had already won their hearts and there was a muted cheer. Face serious, she turned to Kel.

            “Lady Keladry, you will remember, I think, that in Yamani law and custom those two people are known as Sakuyo’s Blessed and have the right to enter anywhere and be welcomed. It is not a duty I had anticipated but as a Princess of the Imperial House it is my honour and obligation to name myself and all here as his Blessed, with the same right, and so I do.” She turned back to the crowd. “It will mean little in Tortall, I think, but when I write to tell His Imperial Majesty of tonight’s wonder, tokens of jade and gold will be sent, and should any of you travel to Yaman you will be most welcome and honoured.”

            She and Yuki curtseyed again, to crowd, immortals, and guests, before returning to places beside and behind Kel. Only a quick squeeze of hands was possible but Kel could feel their trembling, and the emotion in their eyes was plain. She heard Roald draw sharp breath as he hugged Shinko, and Neal embraced Yuki for a longer moment. Her parents’ expressions were abstracted, and the sardonic voice she sometimes heard in some detached part of her mind murmured that if they weren’t calculating what status as Sakuyo’s Blessed might mean when they next returned to the Islands they ought to be. She tore her gaze back to Holloran, who met it with a look at once exalted, serene, and apprehensive, and she managed a nod before Daine came to her side.

            Together they followed Holloran to the central double niche. Holloran had tried to persuade Daine to speak the prayer but she’d flatly refused, asking him if he’d care to supplicate his ma and da, and adding she had a hard enough time standing up to them already. Kel didn’t think the Archpriest had been persuaded by this familial theology but certainly wasn’t going to argue with her friend, and listened in the charged silence as Holloran invoked the wedded gods and praised the wild magic of their daughter that had proven so great an aid to New Hope’s people. Kel had agreed to make the offering and as she walked forward to face the statues could feel the weight of peoples’ attention.

            Iestyn of Goatstrack had done a fine job, Kel thought, looking at the gods’ faces as she loosened the tie and poured grain at their feet. Holloran handed her the wine, and with her heart hammering she poured it, barely finishing before chimes sounded once, again. Silver fire rimmed niche and statues, growing to a heatless blaze that forced her back, eyes watering; she almost stumbled as kimono skirts restricted her stride but a sturdy arm caught her round the shoulders and she heard Daine’s voice close to her ear.

            “Da! Stop it!”

            Kel blinked away tears and her breath caught. Standing before their shrine Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady were as Iestyn had carved them, arms around one another’s waists and carrying bow and spiral. Their faces were not those of the carvings but their expressions were the same, though infinite eyes glinted with light of their own and Kel saw in Weiryn’s something that reminded her of Daine’s liking for owls.

            “Don’t scold me, daughter. It _is_ my first great shrine.” Weiryn’s voice was overwhelming, deep, as rich as the velveted antlers springing from his head. As her ears rang and sight returned Kel saw Holloran had dropped to his knees, face upturned to the manifest gods like a baby’s at the breast, and she heard the rustle and gasps as everyone knelt with him. Even the immortals lowered themselves, spidrens crouching and basilisks and ogres bowing their heads to peer from under brows, but Daine’s arm was holding her up. When it was removed she tried to bend her own knees but Daine seized her hand, pulling her forward and keeping her upright before letting her go and grasping Weiryn’s arms, turning up her face for his kiss.

            “I know, Da, and I’m happy for you, but please don’t be too godly. It scares people.”

            “And attracts them, love.” The Green Lady was stunningly beautiful, her dress a forest of tissue-thin layers swirling with embroidery and her voice the comfort of a cool hand on a sweating brow yet laced with amusement. “He dazzled me that Beltane night, you know.”

            “Oh Ma.” Mother and daughter hugged tightly, and Kel dropped her eyes as much in embarrassment at their intimacy as in belated respect. “You always liked a show. How’s Gran’da?”

            “Happy in the Peaceful Realms. The Black God lets him visit us sometimes.”

            “We have time enough for news, daughter.” Weiryn’s voice also rolled with amusement. “Will you not present your friend?”

            Laughing, Daine let her mother go. “You already know everyone anyway. But yes, of course.” She drew herself up. “Ma, Da, this is Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, who commands here. Kel, Lord Weiryn of the Hunt, and the Green Lady, Sarra Beneksri.”

            Kel curtseyed as deeply as kimonos allowed, and raised her eyes to find both gods intent on her. Daine had once tried to describe Gainel’s eyes and these must be similar, infinite depths in which stars moved and distances swirled, with a gaze that saw everything with utterly inhuman detachment beyond love or pity. Something in the Green Lady’s gaze made her uneasy, as if an urgent warning was going unheeded, but Weiryn was speaking and she had no time to think more of it.

            “Protector of the Small, the elemental of the Chamber and my siblings Shakith and Gainel guided you to Rathhausak, yet you might have failed on your way, or fallen to the axe of Stenmun Kinslayer.” Weiryn’s regard was entirely unsettling and emotions churned Kel’s heart and stomach. “All gods rejoice that you did not, and won through to end the contempt of that mage for our decrees.” His attention swung out to all. “Rise, mortals, and hear us.” He looked sideways a moment, and Kel could have sworn he winked at Quenuresh. “Immortals also.”

            His command was compelling and she saw Holloran rise, trembling, and heard others following; a glance showed open-mouthed faces peering up through the evening dark at the glowing figures on the terrace.

            “For you, Protector, I have a gift in token of that rejoicing.” He offered her the great bow in his hand, and from somewhere produced a quiver with three arrows whose vanes shimmered red and orange. “This bow will seek its mark, and the mark these arrows find will burn, be it metal or stone, for they are fletched with sunbird feathers. And my blessing lies on all who hunt to feed the people of this place. Their steps shall be warded and their game plentiful, by gift of the boar and deer gods.” His voice dropped and Kel didn’t know how far it carried, though from their startled looks Roald and Shinko heard. “The rabbits need no asking to multiply.”

            “The childbeds of New Hope have my blessing and the mothers shall rest easy after labour.” The Green Lady’s eyes shone as she handed the spiral she carried to Kel, and her voice rang. “Your kitchens also shall be blessed, and the food you grow shall savour of its essence.”

            _Yes!_ A knot untied in Kel as the wildest and most daring of her thoughts about what might happen fell into place. Opening her arms despite the gifts she found herself clutching, she curtseyed grateful thanks and straightened, letting her arms fall again to her sides.

            “High Ones, I thank you, for myself and all here. Your gifts are beyond all price.” She took a deep breath, seeing encouragement in Daine’s eyes. “I know we can offer nothing to match the Divine Realms, but will it please you dine with us, that we may honour you with more than symbols of our worship and labour?”

            The gods’ voices came in extraordinary unison. “It will.”

            Suspecting she was grinning like a fool but not caring in the least Kel turned, extending one laden hand to Daine and the other to a dazed Holloran, and started towards the steps down from the terrace. Weiryn and the Green Lady fell in behind and she trusted everyone to follow as the crowd parted before them, faces shining with shock. Distantly she was aware of cooks racing from the back of the assembly for kitchens and messhall, and though she felt like skipping walked with slow care to give them time. As they neared the hall doors Tobe scampered to open them and take the awkward bow, quiver, and spiral from her; his eyes were huge and she ruffled his hair as she swept into the hall and turned.

            “Be welcome, High Ones, to our feast and our hall.”

            New Hope lacked the fine linens and silverware that would grace such a feast at the court or any wealthy fief, but to Kel’s eyes the bare wooden tables crowded with candles and simple place settings looked good amid the striking stone carvings. The gods obviously agreed, for the Green Lady waved a hand and candles burst alight; smiling, Weiryn also gestured, silver fire spilling from his hand, and the crystalline pillars began to glow from within, filling the hall with shimmering washes of colour. As soon as she’d seen the basilisks’ work the day before Kel had decided the unexpected beauty of the hall would be a pleasing highpoint after the ceremonies, and with the added godlight the stunned expressions that came to everyone’s faces as they entered were all she could have hoped for, and more.

            The food was a riot of taste and the wine she cautiously sipped exploded in her mouth as the feast became a delightful whirl of moments she could never remember with any coherence—a grinning Numair introducing Lindhall to his in-laws and the older mage’s chagrin when Bonedancer flapped from his shoulder to perch on the Green Lady’s arm, clattering his beak with pleasure and rubbing his head against her breast; Shinko deep in conversation with Fanche and Saefas, asking about their lives at New Hope and unaware of Kitten by her side making the beads of her necklace glow; Wyldon, in a state of astonishment that transformed his austerity, hesitantly asking Weiryn about dogs and the god answering with pleased humour and a tale of the hounds that ran with the Wild Hunt; Roald absently plucking an inquisitive baby spidren from his leg and hastily putting it down as he talked treaties with Quenuresh and ate cheese; Holloran trying to absorb that he was dining with gods and laughing with wonder at the absurdity of it all; Tkaa gravely remarking to Weiryn that immortal young of all kinds seemed to mature faster in the mortal realms, and perhaps he might convey as much to Diamondflame should they meet; her parents making her blush and Tobe laugh with stories of her childhood in the Islands; Neal in earnest conversation with the Green Lady about the care of pregnancy and later, when all had spilled back outside and musicians among the soldiery and civilians assembled into an inspired impromptu band, leading Yuki in a dance around the green. A reluctant griffin kit had been summoned away after the meal by ringing cries from above, and Quenuresh departed with her kin, remarking that she hadn’t been so surprised in centuries and wondering what the Divine Realms were coming to, but the gods stayed and danced, Weiryn’s antlers gleaming in the light of fires hastily built on each side and the Green Lady’s dress swirling and glittering as they moved among other couples, Roald and Shinko, Daine and Numair, Fanche and Saefas, her grinning parents, Tobe and Irnai, Idrius and Olka Valestone, all manner of refugee couples and soldiers with refugees, and with a sense of bemusement Kel knew would intensify, herself and Wyldon.

            After a while the gods withdrew with Daine and Numair, sitting before their shrine in a family circle. Kel saw Daine rest her head on her mother’s shoulder and Kitten climb on to the goddess’s lap before she turned away, not wishing to intrude, and went to find her own parents, talking with Neal and Yuki about Lord Sakuyo’s blessing. Not much later, however, she felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down to see Kitten.

            _The antlered god wants to talk to you before he goes, Kel._ Her mindvoice became thoughtful. _He is nice. My grandsire says gods are annoying but he has not annoyed me and says my spellwork is very good._

            Kel laughed, agreed it was excellent, and took the dragonet’s paw until they came to the broad steps to the terrace, where Kitten scrambled ahead of her. The gods were standing and Kel was surprised to notice Numair was taller than both, though Weiryn’s antlers gave him an additional foot no mortal could match. He regarded her gravely as she approached and she again felt the unease that had possessed her when the Green Lady had first looked at her.

            “Protector.” Daine jabbed a finger and he glanced down with a smile. “Keladry, then, as my daughter is so scant with titles and says you do not care for the name the elemental gave you. What I can say is limited, both in true uncertainty that besets this time and by command of the Great Gods, who restrict the interference in mortal affairs we are permitted. That mage’s necromancy was one thing, your mortal wars another, and no business of mine, but these are not wholly mortal affairs any longer. We have waited since Dunlath in hope that its example would be followed, but you are the first to do so. That is in large part why my brothers and sisters were so forthcoming earlier.”

            Not at all sure how she ought to respond to this confidence, Kel dropped a curtsey and said the first thing that came into her mind.

            “Our immortals are refugees also, my Lord, driven here by war.”

            “Perhaps so, but other immortals fight for the Scanran king and would claim territory your own neglects.” Having seen the poverty of so many northern villages and knowing only the Scanran threat had forced royal attention away from Tyra, Carthak, and Yaman, Kel couldn’t deny it and her eyes dropped. “It is no shame on you, Keladry, but it is a complication. And Shakith says others among the immortals, as well as stormwings, have parts yet to play here before time is resolved.”

            Meeting his gaze Kel was swept by dizziness and a sense of what she might have called the god’s pity if she hadn’t known he felt no human emotions. When he spoke again his tone was brusquer.

            “Keep faith in us, Keladry, and we will keep faith in you. The elemental named you well, and all that happens here has our attention, as you have our blessings and the gifts we may give. But we cannot prevent all we might wish nor protect all we bless. I cannot say more. We must return to the Divine Realms. Make your farewell, Sarra.”

            The Green Lady embraced Daine, and with a slight frown turned to Kel, kissing her forehead with lips that burned cold.

            “Sarra.” Weiryn’s voice sounded sharp.

            “Yes, yes, I break no rule. Keladry, my spiral will give virtue of itself, and if a woman prays to me here I will answer. But it is also of the Great Goddess and will summon her in your need if you call. Remember.”

            “Thank you, my Lady. Thank you both.”

            Their voices were for a second time in unison. “You have deserved your blessings.” And with a swirl of silver fire they were gone, leaving Kel blinking, Kitten chortling, and Daine frowning puzzlement.

            Kel dabbed watering eyes. “What was that all about?”

            “I don’t know, Kel, but I don’t like it.” Daine shrugged. “Gods are fair confusing, even Ma, and that’s when they’re being helpful. When they get all mysterious there’s no knowing what they really want.”

            “It’s always like that.” Numair rested a hand on Kel’s shoulder. “I tried asking Weiryn about that prophecy but he said he had nothing to add to Shakith’s words. And if Shakith has anything to add I dare say it’ll come the same way and leave us no wiser.” He shook his head. “I think you should be as careful as you possibly can, Kel. Something’s up. But keep doing what you do so amazingly well and try not to worry about what you can’t change.” A smile lit his dark face. “When all’s said and done, eight gods have blessed you tonight with hundreds to witness it, and two came to dinner. The court’ll be hopping sideways for weeks when Roald and Shinko get back and report what’s happened.”

            Kel wasn’t sure she cared for that either, however true, yet Numair was right there was no point fretting on things she could do nothing about. But for all her tiredness and the lingering effects of the unaccustomed, god-bolstered wine she did not sleep for a long while.

            The aftermath of the extraordinary evening took extensive cleaning and straightening next morning, for which Kel bullied everyone awake. Roald and Shinko had been supposed to leave by noon, but Roald unilaterally asserted authority to postpone departure for a day, without any objection from his entourage, and spent several hours talking with basilisks and ogres, as well as refugees bold enough to greet him. After some thought Kel took advantage of Holloran’s continued presence to make a request, and in mid-afternoon a long procession rode to Haven, where the Archpriest blessed the mass grave of its defenders, making up for the scant ceremony with which they’d been buried, and dedicated the ground as a resting place for New Hope’s residents. Using another handful of their first grain and water from the spring he invoked the Black God’s peace for all who lay and would lie here, and chimes sounded with that soughing of wind and burning silence behind them. The only distress was the sight of three stormwings high above, wings glinting in the sun—the first Kel had seen since the return from Rathhausak.

            Riding Peachblossom back to New Hope beside Wyldon, he looked at her with his usual dryness touched by wonder and irony.

            “More congratulations are in order, Lady Knight. I thought I spoke in jest when I said you were setting the gods by the ears as well as Vanget and I. I should have known better.” A rueful amusement entered his voice. “It is going to look very odd in my quarterly report when I have to describe what happened last night. And just now, come to that.”

            She grinned at him. “Oh I don’t know. Military brevity’s a wonderful thing. ‘The shrines at New Hope were dedicated in the usual manner, and offerings accepted by the relevant gods.’”

            “Two of whom stayed to eat and dance, the District Commander taking opportunity to enquire after means of breeding warhounds.”

            They both laughed, startling Neal, riding behind them with Yuki, so much that Magewhisper pranced. Wyldon shot him a dark look before returning attention to Kel and lowering his voice.

            “Jesting aside, Keladry, I don’t like this warning Numair says Lord Weiryn gave you, nor that he could get nothing further from them about that prophecy. I know it’s impossible in war, but do be careful.”

            “Of course.” What else could she say? “I don’t think anyone’s care will make much difference. Even the gods’. Master Harailt was right. They too wait to see what happens. We can only keep on doing our best.”

            Uneasy with the conversation she pulled Peachblossom away from him and gestured Yuki to come forward on her beautiful new mare, a wedding present from Duke Baird.

            “Yuki, could you tell Lord Wyldon of Sakuyo’s Blessed and these tokens? My parents are too busy scheming about all the hospitality they’ll be able to command when they’re next in Yaman.”

            Face dimpling with suppressed laughter, Yuki complied.


	6. Invasions

**Chapter Six — Invasions**

_25–30 September_

 

Royal visitors and divine dancing notwithstanding, urgency of harvesting meant Adner had everyone he could order or cajole back in the fields well before Roald and Shinko departed with all guests except Yuki, who set about decorating and rearranging Neal’s quarters to her satisfaction and helping in the kitchens. Fanche and St’aara ruthlessly organised all but the youngest children to bag, stack, or assist with the hot work of boiling, sealing, and storing; an alarmed but very competent Amiir’aan found himself minding a dozen babes and toddlers. There was more to reap and pick than anyone had thought likely, and the food sampled was extremely good—the goddess’s blessing, people said cheerily—but jars ran short, so carpenters turned lathes till they smoked and basilisks roared rock-spells at the results. Some wood was green and the resulting containers lop-sided, but once stone they could neither flavour their contents nor leak and no-one cared about appearances.

            Patrols were reduced to provide more fieldguards, dogs and sparrows reinforcing the five that still went out every day, while Uinse’s Company One took over the gatehouse and alures. Off-duty squads joined refugees in harvesting, adding lightly armed but trained fighters, and the ogres proved willing to work with Adner while there was so much to be done so swiftly. But with more than five hundred pairs of hands working north and south of the fin and carts in constant motion to and fro security was stretched thinner than Kel or Brodhelm liked, and she fretted over her decision to push cultivation in the southern valley.

            “Don’t second guess yourself, Lady Kel.” Brodhelm was phlegmatic. “It’s only for ten days or so and we need that food. No good keeping everyone safe at home only to find ourselves starving at Imbolc.”

            That was unarguable but Kel didn’t like the extent to which people were exposed, and word from Mastiff that a Steadfast patrol had encountered a fair-sized Scanran war party and taken casualties did nothing to ease her mind; worse, the report had no names so she could only hope Dom and his squad hadn’t been involved. Further word from Northwatch of a tauros attack close to them, suggesting the elusive immortals had gone back west, was cold comfort: Kel felt guiltily glad they had become less of a threat to her own people but concerns about how they were evading the search intensified. A tauros was not by any account subtle, and most were killed fairly quickly once spotted. Stormwings were also seen, by patrols and over the valley, always high up but inducing oppressive awareness of what attracted them, though sight of the griffins was more positive. Still uneasy after pulling an extra half-squad from the alures to reinforce Sergeant Connac in the south valley Kel lost temper with her fretful mood and took herself to the archery ranges to try Lord Weiryn’s gift.

            The Green Lady’s spiral hung in the infirmary, to the interest of women enduring pregnancy, but the bow and strangely fletched arrows Kel kept. When she’d first held it it had felt very odd and then superbly right in her hand, despite being by far the tallest bow she’d ever tried, and she suspected it had adjusted itself to her size and strength. What wood it was no-one could say, even Urthor, Company Eight’s experienced bowyer. It was a self bow, a single piece of wood, but the grain was wrong and the colour too dark for yew and without flecking; whether its back and belly were all heartwood or mixed heart- and sapwood was anyone’s guess. Nor could the material of the string be identified beyond saying it wasn’t hemp, flax, or silk, but Kel didn’t care: the stave bent easily for her to string, the nocks seemed integral, the string held tension so well it hummed when she plucked it, and the whole was beautiful, a weapon that appealed beyond utility, as the damascened steel of her glaive and sword made them more than deadly.

            With everyone in the fields the main level was deserted, and she took the chance to move a target to the front of the empty barracks and take her stance all but touching the railing of the livestock pens. The range was more than five hundred feet, and while she’d certainly sent arrows that far before with a self bow she’d been aiming at charging bandits, not a small bullseye. Uinse, standing watch on the eastern alure to replace a man she’d sent to the fieldguard, whistled when he saw what she was doing.

            “That’s some shot you’re trying, Lady Kel.”

            “Lord Weiryn said this bow would seek its mark, so let’s see.”

            She had broadheads and needlepoints in her quiver, with goose-fletching and slot-cut nocks. The sunbird-fletched ones Weiryn had provided, which were warm to the touch, seemed too dangerous to use in anything but deadly earnest; whatever sunbirds might be—she’d meant to ask Daine or Numair before they’d departed for Steadfast. In any case, she wanted to know what the bow alone could do. Deciding there was no point shilly-shallying, she nocked a needlepoint, automatically placing the cock-vane away from the stave, swung the bow up with a thrill at its easy feel, drew, and let fly. She lost sight of the arrow but from his vantage-point Uinse whistled.

            “It went right through , Lady Kel, in the bull so far as I could tell.”

            “I’m not that good a shot, Uinse.”

            “Maybe not with another bow.”

            She squinted disbelief but when she trotted across to the target found he’d been right. A hole was punched an inch from the centre of the bullseye, and the arrow buried in the barrack wall. Humming surprise she worked it loose and walked back to her position. Three broadheads in quick succession with a shallower draw also found the bullseye in a quivering group. Uinse and other sentries called appreciation and she glared, finger circling outwards to tell them to keep attention where it belonged. Grinning they complied, and after a moment’s thought she walked round the livestock pens to the nearest steps to the shelf and climbed to the alure. Her range was over eight hundred feet, approaching the limit of any longbow she’d seen or heard of.

            Archers firing from the alure were usually facing the other way, and after a quick scan of the fields to make sure nothing was happening she positioned herself in front of a crenel; cracking her elbow on a merlon as she drew would not help. She’d stuck with broadheads but after nocking again swung the bow up fast and drew as fully as she could—and again the arrow thwapped into the target. At this distance she couldn’t be sure but it looked like another bullseye and even in her childhood dreams she’d never been _that_ kind of shot. Three more fast broadheads followed with the same result. The sentries were sneaking glances and Uinse, nearest her, was openly watching but there was no banter and she thought they were as spooked as she. Wordlessly she held out the bow and Uinse came forward eagerly, but as soon as he held it shook his head, giving it back.

            “I don’t think so, Lady Kel. It’s a one-woman bow, I reckon. It doesn’t want me to use it.” She raised her eyebrows. “That’s what I felt.” His face was thoughtful. “In an emergency, maybe. It didn’t feel hostile, just wrong.” He grinned. “Maybe it’s like Peachblossom. When you rescued Gil at Haven he was fine but anyone near him in the stables had best watch feet and fingers. I’m taking no chances when there’s no need, and so I’ll tell the lads when they ask.” He gestured and heads hastily swivelled. “Eyes where they should be, lads. Show’s over.”

            Given her suspicions about the bow adjusting to her Kel couldn’t argue, and turned to something Uinse’s words had reminded her about.

            “Tell me, what are the folks who were, um, unconvinced about the Wildmage’s parentage saying since they … showed up in person?”

            He grinned. “Not a lot, Lady Kel. No room for doubt now, is there?”

            “No bad feelings?”

            “Not that I’ve seen—why would anyone _not_ like having a Godborn on our side?” He scratched his head. “It _is_ odd. I always thought gods were … I dunno, ageless. I certainly didn’t reckon there was one only ten years older than me, and born a peasant at that.” He grinned again. “Gives a man hope, Lady Kel. Maybe I’ll get to be a god too some day.”

            “In your dreams.”

            He laughed, and she made her way thoughtfully back to the target. All four arrows were indeed bulls, clustered tightly, so Weiryn had been serious. After unstringing the bow and shifting the target back where it belonged, she went to her quarters and put bow and quiver with her wall-fighting gear. A longbow was no use on horseback or in close combat, and her glaive only of use on the alures if an enemy had already gained them; the full armour needed in field combat would be as much hindrance as protection if she were walking walls in a siege, so her ready gear was divided between functions. Bow and quiver joined half-armour, staff, and a spare griffin-band; one was always in her belt-pouch, and she’d sewn others into the linings of bascinet and close helm.

            After the evening meal she invited Neal and Yuki, Merric, and Seaver to her quarters and told them how her marksmanship seemed to have improved, and what Uinse had said in declining the chance to see if his might do the same.

            “From the _alure_?” Merric’s eyes were wide.

            “Yes and the target was right over by the barracks.”

            “Kel, that’s … what, nine hundred feet?”

            “Over eight hundred for sure.”

            “I doubt I could hit the barracks at that range, far less a target.”

            “Not just the target, the bull.” Neal rested chin on hand, pondering. “Kel, the only person I’ve _ever_ seen shoot even remotely like that is Daine. Alanna was always telling me what an amazing shot she is, and when we met up with her once—the same trip on which I met those smugglers, actually—she got her to demonstrate. I’ve never seen anything like it. One of my brothers reckoned the longbow his weapon of choice so I’ve heard archers’ tall tales and this was up there with the best of them.” He fell silent, clearly thinking of the brothers he’d lost in the Immortals War, and Yuki reached to grasp his hand.

            “So’s four bulls at more than eight hundred feet, Neal.” Seaver leaned back, grinning. “Lord Weiryn said it’d seek its mark, didn’t he, Kel? Seems he meant it.”

            “That was my point, Seaver. When I asked Daine where she’d got her bow she said it was a present. She didn’t say from whom, but what’s the betting it was her da?”

            “Huh.” Merric’s face was thoughtful. “And Uinse said it _felt_ _wrong_ when he held it?”

            “Yes. Do you want to try?”

            “Please.”

            She got the bow and strung it. Each of them held it in turn, shaking their heads, and Yuki, the last, tried to unstring it.

            “Kel, I can’t even bend this thing.”

            The knights all tried, and though Neal, the tallest, just managed to do so he couldn’t string it again. Surprised, Kel took it back, lodging the base against her foot, and it bent easily in her hands.

            “Well, that settles it.” Merric was definite. “I know exactly what Uinse meant. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t for me.”

            “Uinse said it was like Peachblossom. In an emergency he’ll do whatever’s needed but otherwise he’s a one-woman horse. Except for Tobe, of course.”

            “He’s a vicious brute, Kel, as you know perfectly well.” Neal radiated indignation and got his laugh. “But it’s a good comparison.”

            “So what we have is a guaranteed shot at eight hundred feet plus.” Merric frowned. “Kel, that’s a weapon we need to think about. A mage cooking up a spell might stand at that range and be sure he was safe. Or if we ever face a siege, gods forfend, any engines and their crews would be closer than that. I should talk to Brodhelm and Uinse about this.”

            Kel waved permission; she’d have done so anyway. With the bow restored to its place the talk became general, Merric and Seaver considering Roald’s marriage, sighing over Shinko’s beauty, and teasing Neal and Yuki about wedded bliss.

            “You wait,” Neal retorted to an unsubtle sally from Merric that made Yuki raise her fan. “You’ll find out. If you’re lucky enough to marry a Yamani, that is, supposing you could find one mad enough to have you.”

            “Is Yuki mad then that she _had_ you?”

            Kel laughed with them but when Merric’s remarks remained on the bawdy side she kicked them out, pleading a long day. They went with half-hearted protests, Yuki with a giggle as Neal’s arm snaked possessively round her waist. Her friends’ obvious happiness and Shinko’s contentment with Roald were welcome to Kel, who could not begrudge them joy and wouldn’t have liked herself if she could; but the loneliness she’d felt at Steadfast pressed on her.

            After seeing Tobe abed, Jump by his side, and sitting with them to tug the dog’s tattered ears and tell about the marvellous bow, she returned to her rooms. With combat wear, armour, and weapons set ready, she stripped off shirt, breeches, and small clothing, folding them before reaching for her nightshirt, and caught sight of herself in the metal mirror she’d hung to don her kimonos for the dedication. Straightening, she considered herself dispassionately, looking down and in the mirror: though more heavyset, as well as scarred, her body was of the same kind as her Mama’s, wide-hipped and small-breasted—a contrast Ilane told her changed once her breasts had enlarged with milk, never decreasing to their former size. Kel’s were what she thought men called apple breasts, high and wide-spaced, to Lalasa’s despair when she’d tried dresses that depended on having a cleavage. Nor were her hips as wide as her mother’s, thigh muscles and thickened waist making a column, not the hourglass men like Dom admired. Strength and endurance served her well and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but despite what her mother said about noblemen who thought of wives as they thought of mares, it wasn’t a body she could imagine a man wanting; desiring to touch as she desired to be touched, to enter in that mystery of which she remained ignorant.

            Sticking out her tongue at her reflection she pulled on her nightshirt, blew out the candle, and tucked herself in; but after a few minutes of staring into the dark got up again, slipped the nightshirt off, and lay back on top of the bed, letting one hand rise to her breasts and the other drift lower. Imagination of Dom’s hands instead of her own was familiar but memory of the looks in Yuki’s and Shinko’s newly married eyes accompanied him. She wanted both, but they would not be hers on her virgin road of knighthood; perhaps she should have done and dedicate her warrior chastity to the Goddess, content with the bloodier penetrations of glaive and sword righteously used. Awareness of Tobe only doors away limited movement and sound but at last the familiar ritual of solitary nights past and to come was complete. Putting her nightshirt on with a shiver she slid gratefully under the blankets into her body’s warmth and let the brief satisfaction carry her into sleep.

           

* * * * *

 

Next day was second last of the month and Kel spent the morning tackling the inventory required of commanders every calend. The most important thing was newly harvested grains and fruits, and she spent a weary couple of hours counting bushels, barrels, jars, and crocks. The chief cook and Fanche were conducting an experiment, storing samples of fruits, grain, and variously dried, cured, and smoked meats in different chambers of the cave system, and Kel conscientiously went to count those too; if she took the opportunity to inspect the tunnel to the putative look-out post there was no-one to say she shouldn’t, and the two full spirals basilisks, ogres, and miners had already roared and hewn out were pleasing. Its floor was steeply pitched and after walking up and down she estimated it rose nearly fifty feet, almost a quarter of the way, and with the additional labour available during the snows she might reasonably hope to have her look-out post manned sometime in spring. The limestone blocks building up in the cavern were a bonus, and the back of her mind set to wondering how they might best be used.

            Cheered, she returned to paperwork, sending the inventory to the clerks to be copied, and set about written reports. Knowing it would amuse Wyldon she used the bland military brevity they’d discussed, with “the shrines’ dedications having been accepted in the usual manner with additional noises Archpriest Holloran deemed auspicious” and “manifest gods” who “dined and participated in customary dances”. Reading it with enjoyment she added an equally bland paragraph about the range and accuracy she’d managed with the bow, which would provoke disbelieving requests for clarification, noted Lady Yukimi of Queenscove was now resident, and sent it to the clerks. All that remained was a weapons inventory, and she collared Uinse to help, finishing in time for lunch.

            To everyone’s surprise the godlight Weiryn had set in the pillars continued to wash walls and tables with all the colours the basilisks had induced in the stone, perceptibly warm on the skin—which promised to be of even greater use in winter than the saving in candles. Most people were lunching in the fields and despite the remarkable improvements in flavour since the Green Lady’s blessing the only others present were some of Uinse’s men rotating from guard duty and Fanche’s party taking a break from preserving, Irnai and Yuki among them. Kel sat by the seer, listening to happy chatter about kitchen work she liked and a bounty of nuts found beyond the fin. She said little but took ease in Irnai’s peace, and hugged her before watching her skip back to the kitchens.

            Yuki gave her a look. “Planning on adopting a daughter as well, Kel?”

            She gave her a friend a glare but relented. “If she wants it. I’ve come to care for her very much but she seems happy as is.”

            “Does she live with anyone?”

            “Zerhalm and the Rathhausak folk look out for her, and she sleeps in their bit of the barracks.”

            “Have you asked her about adoption?”

            “Not yet. The time’s never seemed right, and there’s Tobe to think of. He and I decided to go ahead at Steadfast, when we talked to Ma, but we didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Da had just agreed when Cricket asked them to come to the dedications, and they went galloping off to see Duke Turomot there and then.”

            Yuki dimpled. “So they said.” She hesitated. “I was surprised, Kel. Do you not want children of your own? I know I do, as soon as possible.”

            Kel shrugged. “I’m not against it, Yuki, but a husband is traditionally required and I’ve no prospect of that. With Tobe it just seemed right—he’s never belonged anywhere, really, and gods know he had a bad time in Queensgrace with that fat bully of an innkeeper.”

            Yuki nodded, knowing of Alvik’s neglect and heavy hand from Neal, but her eyes were concerned, suspecting something of what beset Kel but unsure how she might broach such a topic. “He’s a good boy, and a wonder with horses. Did I tell you I found him grooming Hokage?”

            “No, but I’m not surprised. She’s beautiful, Yuki, and it’s a lovely name.” The Yamani word meant a shape moving in firelight and perfectly suited the mare’s grace and pangare bay colouring. “But he’s an easy mark for a horse.” She grinned. “That’s one reason he likes Wyldon. He told me no-one with horses that splendid could be as bad as Neal said.”

            They parted with laughter and Kel went to groom Hoshi and Peachblossom, deciding the big gelding could do with a ride. He was getting on, having been older than most Palace horses offered to pages when she’d met him a decade before, but still full of energy and attitude. When she returned to the stables in half-armour, Griffin at her waist and glaive in hand, he co-operated happily. She led him to the gatehouse and signed out with Uinse.

            “Not taking an escort, Lady Kel? Standing orders …”

            “I know, but is anyone free? I can’t take any more men off the alures. And I’m sticking to the fields so I won’t be out of sight.”

            “Even so, Lady Kel.” He scratched his head and made a decision. “I know you’ve your glaive but take Crener and Varlan, eh? They’re decent with lances and fair with swords. And I can spare ‘em—I’ve Harrel on sentry-go today ‘cause he ricked his back carrying a grainsack, the idiot, and after Sir Neal fixed it he said he should give it a day or two.”

            “Alright. And I should obey my own orders.”

            Uinse laughed and went to get the men, Kel taking his place. Peachblossom stamped at the delay and the other duty-guard, a wiry, sandy man from somewhere on the Tusaine border who’d fallen into half-hearted banditry when drought struck the region, looked wary.

            “’E’s a real bruiser, in’t ’e, Lady Kel.”

            “If you get on his bad side, Deren, but he’s been a good friend to me. The first I had at the Palace, really, except Sir Neal.”

            “I ’eard you was pages an’ squires together. An’ Sir Merric said you knew ’is wife when you was both littles.”

            He was fishing but Kel didn’t mind. The barbed probing of nobles who resented her success disgusted her in its surprise that an upstart girl—whose family were only in the Book of Copper _and_ who’d grown up among barbarians—could achieve anything; what _was_ Tortall coming to? The curiosity of men she commanded was free of such disrespect.

            “That’s so, Deren. Lady Yukimi’s parents serve at the Yamani court, and we were of an age when my parents went to negotiate a treaty.” She smiled. “It’s odd my best Yamani friend and best Tortallan friend have wound up getting married, but I like it and they’re very happy.”

            “Yus, anyone can see that. And Sir Neal don’t go on about ’er so much now she’s ’ere.”

            “A blessing in itself, eh?”

            Deren grinned agreement. “Yus, it’s that alright. ’E do talk a streak.” He mulled for a moment. “What’s the Islands like, then, Lady Kel? I ’eard that god of theirs laugh with ev’ryone else, an’ if the Princess ’ad it right we could all go there an’ be treated like kings.”

            Kel laughed. “You’d certainly be honoured. I’m not so sure you’d care for the firefly-and-poetry parties you’d be expected to attend.”

            “The what?”

            She explained, to his astonishment, and they talked of strange things Yamanis did until Crener and Varlan arrived with horses saddled and lances in hand. Mounting, Kel secured her glaive and they carefully negotiated Orchan’s steep rise-and-turn—or drop-and-turn—and trotted down the roadway, reaching the moatbridge just ahead of a well-laden wagon hauled by bored-looking oxen; but then to Kel oxen always looked bored. Waving to its driver and guards, Kel headed round the fin, checking in with Brodhelm and his squads, then with one of Adner’s deputies, and finding all going as it ought.

            It felt odd to ride Peachblossom in armour without Jump and her sparrows in attendance but they were with Merric’s and Connac’s patrols today, in the hills towards Mastiff where dense woodland restricted scouting, and Kel’s eyes were sharp enough in open fields. Shaking her head, she sent a Goatstrack man with a nasty blister from unaccustomed tools to see Neal, and a moment later found herself in the right place to save a badly stacked grainsack from toppling off a wagon. Peachblossom snorted as her weight shifted but kept her in the saddle, and Varlan quickly dismounted, climbing onto the wagon to ease her burden and seat it properly. Several firm words later she left a Hannaford trapper doing the stacking looking chagrined but being more careful, and headed back to the old Haven fields.

            Slowly she worked up valley, offering encouragement and helping out. Crener and Varlan proved as competent as Uinse said, and fair company. Gingery Crener was from haMinchi lands but had nothing bad to say of the clan, admitting he _had_ rustled the prize rams he’d been condemned for stealing, as well as one he’d feasted on, so he couldn’t complain, while blond Varlan was a light-fingered product of Corus with the tattooed thumb-webbings that told of multiple convictions.

            “Pickpocketin’, Lady Kel,” he said cheerfully. “Couldn’t resist all them blind bags wiv pockets so big I could get me ’ole arm in there as well as both fambles. I’d prob’ly be doin’ it now if I ’adn’t bin nabbed by Dogs seekin’ some cracknob what took a gixie over Breakbone Falls an’”—he flushed a little—“you know, forced ’er, like. Never did find ’im that I ’eard, the scummer, but they ’ad me instead.”

            Disentangling his slang Kel wondered with an unhappy jolt in her belly if the man who’d beaten and raped a girl might have been Vinson, and what had become of the vile squire after he’d failed his Ordeal and made confession as the Chamber demanded. Duke Turomot had ordered a trial but she’d never heard what came of it—Fief Genlith had a lot of influence, even without Stone Mountain’s backing, and she doubted anyone of Vinson’s status would have been gaoled for long, if at all. Keeping her voice neutral she asked Varlan when that had been, and thought sadly that the date fitted.

            “Do you know what happened to the girl?”

            “’Fraid I don’t, Lady Kel. I was nabbed and wiv two tats they ’ad me up norf to the mines ’fore I could finish cursin’ me luck.”

            “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, Varlan.”

            “No call to be, me Lady. I might o’ known summat, an’ I did ’ear the Dogs didn’t nab no-one for it.”

            “Still, I should have thought. I was just wondering. Women can have a hard time after, ah, being forced.”

            He nodded soberly. “Ay, I knows it. Even from other mots.”

            “Quite so. And as it happens, I know there was a man, um, nabbed for having done exactly that sort of thing a while back.” She didn’t think names were in order and certainly had no intention of explaining why Vinson’s crimes haunted her own guilts. “I wondered then if I should try to do something to help his victims, and your story reminded me of it.”

            “Now aren’t that you all over, Lady Kel?” Crener was listening with interest. “When I hears a story like that I wants to hurt the man but you thinks of helpin’ the woman.”

            Fortunately for Kel they were just reaching Adner, clucking over a blunt scythe, and by the time she’d found the whetstone in her pouch and heard his assessment while he sharpened it her embarrassment had passed. Moving on she spoke to Brodhelm’s senior sergeant, Ersen, and a while later she, Crener, and Varlan dismounted to help unstick a wagon canted in soft earth. Leaving some of its load to await a second trip the sweating wagoneer eventually got it moving, and Kel dusted off her hands, sighing. The sun was westering and with summer fading the shadow of Haven’s knoll reached further and further up valley, inching towards the ragged end of the limestone and the wooded hills that ran north-east to Spidren Wood. Her back ached from shouldering the cart into motion, but there were two work parties still unvisited, one of older children by the cliffs picking mushrooms that flourished where the earth was dampened by a seep, the other of Tirrsmont farmers and their wives, experienced hands with a scythe, further away on the west side cutting hay high on a slope too steep to plough. Each had two spearmen from Ersen’s squad, who wouldn’t like being left out of an otherwise complete tour, and the children should be heading in soon anyway, so she pulled a face at Varlan and Crener.

            “Only two more, thank Mithros.”

            They had almost reached the mushroom-pickers when a scream loud enough to echo from the cliffs brought Kel’s head snapping round to the north. As she was turning Peachblossom a horn-call began to rise but ended in a hoarse, ugly screech, and by the time she’d snatched breath they were at full gallop. The fields here had been harvested several days before and stubble ploughed under, leaving clods along each sillion that burst under Peachblossom’s hooves to spatter her greaves, but he was outpacing Varlan’s and Crener’s smaller mounts and as the distance to the scything party dropped she could see blurred, bulky shapes among the scattering farmers, and one juddering on the ground. A figure seemed to rise into the air and crumple as it landed, bonelessly rolling downslope; to one side another stood stock still, outstretched hands cloaked in a thick, mud-brown haze, and Kel shifted course. If an enemy mage was at work he was always the prime target: whatever else was a threat could never get worse _without_ magic, and might be neutralised. The back of her mind wondered if Varlan and Crener had their griffin-bands on, as standing orders specified, and if not what they might be seeing—if anything. But they were already fifty yards behind, too far to hear her shout. If she could take out the mage before he realised his spells weren’t working on her it wouldn’t matter anyway.

            Reaching the slope Peachblossom slowed and Kel caught up her glaive before rising in the saddle to see what else she faced. In her gut she knew, though it made no sense, and confirmation sank into her mind like a stone through water. The shapes were tauroses, seven she could see, the one on the ground not down but hammering over the body of one of the Tirrsmont women. One had just fallen to a guard, bellowing agony as silver blood sprayed from his spear in its guts, but as he pulled the point free another gored him from behind; she had passed the other guard, chest ripped open and lifeless face staring to the sky. At least one farmer was down, probably dead, and a vile scream from her right told her a second rape had begun.

            The mage was Scanran, draped and hatted in scraggly furs, and she saw him realise he was her target and skip a few paces to one side with a billow of brown magic. To her sight it was no more than spatter in a practice joust with open helms but she guessed that where he had stood a crude replica of him remained; her brain was crystal and he hadn’t moved far enough away as he gathered magic to hurl as she passed. Stretching out her glaive she let him think she was going for the illusion, pressed Peachblossom with her knee, waited and waited and at the last second, close enough to see satisfaction in his face, swung the glaive out and chopped down. At her speed the Yamani steel carved though his raised arm and most of his torso as he was hurled away in a spray of blood, magic vanishing. If he screamed she didn’t hear as Peachblossom whirled to face two tauroses, tiny eyes glinting above flat bull-faces and open, square-toothed mouths, straining pizzles pointing at her.

            She saw Crener and Varlan starting up the slope, lances lowered but horses labouring, the first of the tauroses to complete its rape bellowing exultation with its head to the sky and an unmoving form beneath, the second still hammering away, and the one that had killed the guard starting towards her and the closer two. Where was the seventh? Taruroses came singly, not in herds, and didn’t plan tactics past charge-and-rape or –gore but these were clearly co-operating, and the two closest began to spread out to flank her. Their numbers _had_ to be reduced and she drew Griffin, shifting the blade to her left hand, and charged forward, holding her glaive down until she could bring it slicing up across the face of the one to her right, feeling the resistance of bone and horn up her arm. The gelding was wheeling and rearing under her and she clamped her knees as his forelegs flailed out to crack sickeningly into a tauros face. Silver erupted and it dropped like a stone but as Peachblossom came down he screamed and agony shot through her right thigh. Somewhere bone snapped and she was falling with the gelding, almost pulling her left leg clear as the saddle hit the ground, but not quite.

            Old Naruko hadn’t trained her for nothing and she still had hold of both Griffin and her glaive, but her left leg was pinned by Peachblossom’s struggling bulk and her right was on fire. The tauros she’d missed leapt over his withers, bellowing triumph, and raised one great hoof, pizzle swinging with the motion, before stamping back to hit Peachblossom’s head, snapping it forward and sending a wave of pain through her trapped leg as the gelding juddered and slumped into immobility. A great wail started in her mind as she swung the glaive to chop into the tauros’s upper arm, cutting into bunched muscle and spurting more silver, but the angle was bad and his other hand smashed the glaive away, tearing it from her grasp. Her right thigh bolted agony as she raised it to push at Peachblossom’s croup, dragging her leg from under his flank and something slammed into her face, filling her vision with blazing stars and dislodging her helmet.

            She felt hard hands grab her arms and toss her several feet, breath exploding as she landed and her sight dimming around stars. There were screams somewhere and a heavy thud, and another scream; she didn’t think it was her because she couldn’t draw breath and another blow to her face sent her mind spinning. Things wrenched at her and she was vaguely conscious of air on her skin before pain greater than she’d ever felt ripped into her breast and a white age later a greater agony still speared like fire into her stomach and spine. There was a vast rumbling noise roaring in her ears but somewhere she could feel her hand on Griffin’s hilt as something slammed her again and again amid waves of pain that burned away thought, and she struggled to pull the sword free. It moved and stuck, moved again and she had it, distant fingers curling around the grip as she tried to angle the blade she couldn’t see and fed everything she had into her arm as she pushed it upward. A blast of pure white pain and another noise that was more vibration than sound crumbled her consciousness and she slid into darkness with her last thoughts a terrible regret at how many people she’d failed and a fragmentary prayer for New Hope.

 

§

 

The space was grey void. Blinking what felt like sleep from her eyes Kel tried to look around but there was nothing to see. Memories jumbled in her head and she realised the tauros had killed her, but sick dismay was as much behind glass as the pain she knew she’d felt in dying. Everything was distant until a tall hooded figure stood looking at her.

            “Be easy, Protector. We hoped you might avoid this death also until Shakith said you might no longer do so.”

            When had that been? Kel wondered, but her thoughts seemed as suspended as the rest of her. Did the Black God hear them? His voice soughed wind through bare trees but she couldn’t see beneath his cowl.

            “By my brother’s command you must know the tauroses that assailed you were touched by Uusoae when she conspired with Ozorne, and with others of their kind were in service to King Maggur. It is an interference Mithros and the Goddess have decided they will not permit at this vortex in the timeway, though still they do not deal with Uusoae’s other remnants.”

            In a man Kel would have thought the winter-wind voice exasperated but the idea of the Black God having emotions was one she was glad to see drift away. It sounded as if she was to be sent back, and bleak dread of the pain she was sure would return rose against howling relief.

            “And they are busy elsewhere, as I should be. My daughter’s healing will be only of your life.”

            The pause seemed to last forever but Kel let herself drift in a comforting warmth, seeing the folds of the god’s robe moving slowly. Did he breathe in there? Or was it the air movement she sometimes thought she could feel on her skin. She tried to look down at herself but her head wouldn’t move and the god’s voice resumed.

            “I add one gift of my own giving, Protector, for the death of the necromancer and in the greatness of your soul.” He raised his hand and pulled back his hood. The face was young, aquiline, smooth-skinned yet infinitely weary, and the eyes bottomless pits of shadow shot with silver. Kel’s amazement was as far away as everything but the god. “Fear not for those you send to my judges, nor for yourself in sending them to me. When you shall come yourself before me none shall cry witness against you. And who dies in your service shall find their death their grace, and my mercy infinite. Prepare yourself now. My daughter comes.”

            A wizened hag appeared, black-eyepatched and grinning, lone tooth gleaming in a light Kel couldn’t see. By her side stood a hyena, tongue lolling, and that was as absurd as the cackle from her crooked lips.

            “I told Sakuyo he’d owe me before this was done. _And_ His Spearness.”

            “Daughter, do your business.”

            “Spoilsport. All work and no play. This one needs some teasing.”

            Silver fire blazed and pain screamed in every inch of her body.

 

§

 

Sound cracked. A great weight was lifted and black bulk obscured her vision. She blinked. Her mind was clear, memories and emotions sealed behind glass. The weight had been a tauros body and the black bulk was Quenuresh, face creased with an emotion Kel couldn’t recognise.

            “Protector, you’re—” The spidren’s nostrils flared impossibly widely, pupils contracting to pinpoints. “Godwork. You reek of the Graveyard Hag and her father. They have sent you back.”

            It wasn’t a question but Kel nodded. “Only to you, I expect.” With an effort she pushed herself to one elbow. Her breastplate and cuirasses were gone, her clothing in tatters around her, her stomach and thighs thick with bright, congealing blood, red and silver mixed, but she couldn’t see or feel any of her own still flowing. Her leg stabbed fire and she ached all over but there was no feeling in her left breast, and a numbness in her belly; the breast looked oddly clean against the gore below and something was wrong but she couldn’t decide what and it was low on her list of priorities.

            “What happened?”

            “In the mortal realm? There were seven tauroses and a mage using cloaking spells. I sensed something amiss, and when the horn sounded came with all speed. To judge from what I see, you killed the mage and two tauroses before a third unhorsed you. One was killed by a guard, and three by the men who rode here with you.”

            “Who killed the one that … unhorsed me?”

            “You impaled it without killing it while it was … above you. I broke its neck just now.”

            Kel processed this, and saw the tauros’s head at an impossible angle. She remembered that crack of sound.

            “Thank you. Are Crener and Varlan alive?”

            “The men who rode with you? One killed one tauros but was thrown and died where he fell. The other killed two, but was thrown by the second. He is unconscious and injured, but alive.”

            “The farmers? There were six and two guards.”

            Nostrils flared as the spidren raised her body to swing her head back and forth. “One woman is alive. She hides beneath a dead man. The others are dead. Your soldiers will be here shortly, Protector; they near this hill even now. And your horse is alive, but mortally injured, I fear.”

            “Peachblossom?” A dozen things snapped in Kel’s mind. “Where?”

            Quenuresh shifted her body, legs reaching over Kel, and she could see Peachblossom’s unmoving back a few yards away. “He is stunned. Would you wish me to make the mercy stroke before he wakes?”

            “No, never.”

            She struggled to sit, feeling drying blood crinkle on her stomach, and grabbed at Quenuresh’s leg to pull herself up; pain stabbed her hand and the spidren hissed softly.

            “Protector, you are naked and covered in blood. Godwork or no, you need a healer.”

            “It can wait, but please cloak me if you can before the men get here. They won’t understand.” Thoughts reeled and burgeoned in her suddenly aching head. “And please don’t contradict anything I say. The injured are the priority, and I _have_ to hold everything together.”

            Quenuresh’s eyes glittered for a long moment. “Very well, my Lady.”

            Something struck Kel about that but it too could wait. She took a step toward Peachblossom and stumbled as her right leg buckled. Pain lanced up her thigh and points prickled across her back as a solid bar stopped her falling and Quenuresh hissed again.

            “Spidrens are not designed for this. Wait.”

            The prickling on her back vanished and a moment later she felt her legs swept from under her, tipping her back until elastic bars caught her. She moved effortlessly towards Peachblossom and realised she was suspended in spidren webbing that Quenuresh held in her two front legs, scuttling forward on the rest. Gently Kel was deposited by Peachblossom’s head, and painfully manoeuvred until she could with an effort lift it onto her good thigh. Over his flank she could see one of his hind legs was broken, sharp-ended bone peeping white through skin.

            “Your men see only your head.” Quenuresh’s voice was very dry. “Perhaps you might reassure them.”

            Kel dragged her gaze from Peachblossom’s leg to see Sergeant Ersen and four men dismounting twenty yards away, swords drawn and faces grim. A trembling thunder of hoofbeats told her others were close behind and she worked her mouth to summon saliva.

            “Ersen! Over here.”

            He stopped, staring as his jaw dropped.

            “Lady Kel? You’re—”

            “I know. Tauros got most of my clothing before I got it. Quenuresh is cloaking me. Now, listen.” She gave in to her howling heart. “Send someone back to New Hope at the gallop. I want Zerhalm here _now_ and I want Seaver or any mage available to activate the spellmirror to Mastiff and get the Wildmage here yesterday. Top priority. We need healers here soonest, with transport for two injured. And I need clothes, a robe, anything. Got it?”

            Ersen nodded, jaw flapping until he closed it with a gulp.

            “Then do it _now_.” Her voice cracked command, Ersen wheeled, shouting at someone, and she swung attention to the soldiers staring beside him. “Either Crener or Varlan’s unconscious somewhere, injured, and Quenuresh says there’s a woman hiding under a body. Find them, do all you can. Check the rest but I think they’re all dead. _Go._ ”

            They went, calling to others, and Kel cradled Peachblossom’s head, not looking at his leg but crooning softly even while hoping he’d stay unconscious until Zerhalm could make it. A thought came to her and she looked up at Quenuresh.

            “While I was dead the Black God told me these tauroses had been touched by Uusoae. Can you tell me what that means?”

            The spidren blinked, forehead creasing. “ _That_ explains much. If the Queen of Chaos fed power to these immortals it would work against their nature, which is solitary and as dim in mind as they are strong in body. It must be what made them able to work together, with the mage you slew. It will also be why the Black God sent you back, for Uusoae’s agents may not slay mortals.”

            Kel thought about this, listening to the soldiers dealing with bodies, dead and from shouts alive, until Sergeant Ersen’s voice intruded. Focusing, she saw him a dozen feet away, sword sheathed but his face sheened with sweat and eyes as white as staring.           

            “Lady Kel. I can’t see but your head. Are you sure you’re alright?”

            She wasn’t, but apart from her leg she could feel no serious pain and her mind was clear; purged and sealed, anyway. “Yes, Ersen, I’m fine. Just indecent.” Command returned to her voice. “Report, please.”

            He swallowed, still staring. “We found the woman, my Lady, under her husband. She’s not wounded so far as I can tell but just stares. I don’t reckon she’s seeing anything.” He swallowed again. “Varlan’s alive. Arm and collar-bone bust and out cold, but Morri says he’ll live. Crener’s dead. Looks like he went over his lance and broke his neck. His horse is alright but we had to kill Varlan’s. The other refugees are dead and Wallan and Pevis. The men are gored and the women …”

            “I saw.”

            “Should we … your horse is a goner, my Lady. His leg’s—”

            “No. Where’s Zerhalm?”

            “On his way, my Lady. The Wildmage should’ve been sent for by now. Messenger reached New Hope and healers are half-way here.”

            “Right.” Her thoughts turned. “Do you have your notebook, Ersen?”

            He nodded, reaching to his beltpouch. “Who needs to know what?”

            “Lord Wyldon at Mastiff and General Vanget at Northwatch. The spellmirror will reach both. Tell them we’ve been attacked by seven tauroses under the control of a Scanran mage who was cloaking them. All are dead but we’ve lost three soldiers and five civilians. The tauroses were chaos-touched during the Immortals War and have been in Scanra until now. They fought with intelligence—ganged up with one or more in front so another could come in behind.” She heard his muttered curse. “There may be more the same, but I don’t know how many or where. The news must go to Masters Numair and Harailt urgently.”

            “Got it, my Lady, but beggin’ your pardon, how do you know where they came from and about their bein’ chaos-touched? I’ll be asked.”

            She made a snap decision though it wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. “Quenuresh can smell the chaos on them. Get to it, Ersen.”

            He saluted and turned but then swung back.

            “What about you, my Lady? They’ll be wanting to know that too.”

            She looked through him, stroking Peachblossom. News of her death and return was not for a field report. “My leg’s bruised. I’ll be fine. Go.”

            He went and she found Quenuresh looking at her intently. The immortal’s voice was a murmur, pitched for Kel alone.

            “I can indeed smell the chaos now I know it’s there, but I did not know where or when they came by it, nor can I guess where they might have been since. This tale will not do.”

            “I know, but announcing the Black God told me at Lord Mithros’s command isn’t … sensible.”

            “Mortals make everything so complicated.” Quenuresh shook her head. “So Mithros was in this also.”

            “I didn’t see him. Just the Black God and an old woman with an eyepatch he said was his daughter.” Kel frowned. “There was a hyena.”

            The spidren nodded. “They are sacred to the Graveyard Hag and often accompany her.”

            “The god said Mithros commanded him to tell me about the tauroses, and because they were chaos-touched wouldn’t permit what he called interference.” Another memory unfurled. “Then he forgave me.”

            Quenuresh stared at her. “He did what?”

            “Forgave me.” She found the god’s words cleanly in her mind and repeated them. “His hood was back.”

            “You saw his face?” Shock hissed in Quenuresh’s whisper.

            “Yes. So young and sad.”

            “Acchh. Protector, _that_ has not happened in an eon. Our lore says such forgiveness has been granted to a living mortal only thrice since the Godwars. Even after that ceremony of yours I am surprised. Weiryn and Sarra visit the Godborn whenever they can and the signs of the others I put down to your killing the necromancer, but this … this is of another order. Truly the world turns here.”

            Kel shrugged. Gods did what they did. Her grateful wonder was insulated with everything else and she could see Zerhalm pulling up his lathered horse and dismounting.

            “Over here, Zerhalm.”

            He approached, face white. “Lady Kel, you’re—”

            “Doesn’t matter. Peachblossom.” She swallowed. “His right hind.”

            Zerhalm knelt by the gelding, hissing. “My Lady, I can’t fix this. His hock and gaskin are both smashed. I’m sorry.”

            “Set it as best you can while he’s out. Daine’s coming.”

            His look was intent but he dropped to his knees and gingerly began to feel for the shape of the shattered bones. When he spoke his voice was neutral though his Scanran accent thickened.

            “Only your head is visible, my Lady. What’s happening?”

            “I know, Zerhalm. I’m alright. Tauros got my clothes but not me. Quenuresh is covering me until I can get decent.”

            “Are you injured?”

            “My leg’s bruised. Peachblossom got kicked in the head too.”

            Zerhalm glanced up at her, worry in his eyes. “I’ll look when this is done. But I can only line up these bones, Lady Kel. I can’t heal them.”

            He looked doubtful but went on easing bone fragments into place. A larger group arrived, Neal and Seaver among them. Dismounting, Neal ran towards her, stopping abruptly with his mouth falling open but she was so tired of explanations.

            “Neal, here please.” She eased her injured thigh out, gritting her teeth at the stabbing pain as he approached, face whitening when he saw Peachblossom’s leg.

            “Kel, I can’t see you below the neck. What happened?”

            “Kneel down and give me your hand. Tauros hit my thigh when it knocked Peachblossom over. I’m alright, but it tore my clothes off.”

            Hesitantly he knelt and reached his hand for her to take. Looking down she guided it to the purpled and banded swelling filling her thigh.

            “I can feel dried blood.”

            “Just a bad scratch, Neal. It’s the bruising that hurts.”

            “Gods, yes.” His face became remote and green fire spilled from his hands, dulling the pain. She sighed her relief. “The bruise is bone-deep but your femur’s not cracked. Even with healing you’ll be limping for a week. Wait.” His face returned to the present as he frowned. “There’s magic in you already, something very odd.”

            She leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder as he worked, not caring that her invisible breast rested on the mail of his arm, and whispered to him. “Neal, the gods healed me. _Don’t_ shout, but I think I died and was sent back.” He looked his startlement and she gripped his other shoulder. “No, I’m not mad. It happened, but I am _not_ talking about it here. And the Black God did not send me back to die from my wounds anyway, so believe me, they _are_ already healed.”

            “Mithros.” His free hand made the gods’ circle. “But they didn’t heal your thigh?”

            She managed a smile but it was just movement of her face. “I wasn’t dying from it, I suppose.”

            “Then what …”

            “Shh. It doesn’t matter now.” His eyes were haunted but her attention was on Zerhalm, pushing the last bone-fragment straight. “Can you look at his head?”

            “Ay, if I can get to it, Lady Kel.”

            She realised that to everyone else the gelding’s head was resting on thin air and eased it to the ground, blessing the relief Neal’s magic was affording her thigh. As she settled again he put both his hands on her together and green fire spilled into her more densely. Zerhalm crouched by Peachblossom’s head.

            “That’s as much as I can do now, Kel. It’ll need more later but you can probably stand. _If_ there’s nothing else.” Neal’s gaze burned at her.

            “Nothing broken or bleeding, Neal. I meant what I said. _Think_ about it.” Her glance took in soldiers rigging a horse-litter for Varlan, arm splinted and bound to his chest, and huddled around the blank woman; Jarna—the name came to Kel. The widow Jarna. Others were loading bodies into what should have been a hay wagon and more stood with Seaver, staring. A bundle dangled from his hand, reminding her that however invisible she was also naked but for the tatters of her shirt, and she caught his eye. “Is that clothes for me, Seaver?”

            He nodded, white-faced. “I grabbed a tunic and breeches, Kel. There’s some towels too. Do you want them now?”

            “Please.” She leaned on Neal to stand and slowly try her leg, sighing as it held. “Thanks, Neal. You’re a marvel.”

            “Hardly.” His voice was rough but he looked happier now she was upright. Reaching out she plucked the bundle from a surprised Seaver, realised he couldn’t see her arm, and looked an apology before turning to Quenuresh. “Can you shield me completely for a moment?”

            One  great leg moved slightly, and from the expressions on Neal’s and Seaver’s faces it was clear she and the bundle had vanished.

            “It’s alright, I’m still here.”

            “They cannot hear you.”

            “Oh.” She undid the knot and fished through the contents, then took out a towel.

            “Wait.” Quenuresh muttered something and abruptly the towel was damp in Kel’s hands.

            “Thank you.” She ripped off the shreds of clothing that remained and began wiping the worst of the dried blood from her stomach and thighs. Under her brows she glanced at the spidren, wondering why it didn’t bother her to be naked before the immortal, then looked more openly. “You’re actually very kind, aren’t you?”

            Quenuresh raised her eyebrows. “There are mortals who would tell you otherwise, if they could.”

            “I’m sure. That tauros, too, for which my thanks. But you didn’t have to do this for me.”

            “We have a treaty.”

            “No, I meant the towel. And the cloaking.”

            She hadn’t known a spidren’s smile could be gentle.

            “The gods will be watching and plainly believe you should be aided. It’s always worth attending to those they treat so. Or perhaps I find you worth loyalty, Protector, and kindness follows. The water spell is useful dealing with young spidrens. They are as prone to becoming sticky as all younglings.”

            A genuine smile lit Kel’s face for a moment but other emotions boiled in its wake and she went still, wrestling her Yamani mask into place. Quenuresh eyed her curiously.

            “You do that well. I am no healer but I have become a keen observer of mortals, and I think you will need to let emotion loose, soon. It is no shame, surely, after such a thing as you have borne today?”

            “Maybe not. But it has to wait.”

            She dried herself with a second towel and with relief pulled on breeches and shirt. The soiled cloths went into the bag, and seeing the blood-soaked remains of her old breeches and small clothes where she had lain scooped those up also. Bits of her armour lay scattered about, with the tauros’s body, but that didn’t matter now. She nodded to Quenuresh, watching her with another undecipherable expression, and felt the spell drop with a slight tingle.

            “Kel!” Neal caught her into a fierce hug but she couldn’t return it, and eased away from him.

            “I’m alright, Neal. Peachblossom isn’t.”

            Extracting herself she went back to the gelding, and knelt again by his head. Zerhalm’s expression was bleak.

            “I should try to wake him, Lady Kel. I’ve stopped his leg bleeding and healed his concussion as best I can, but he needs water. Ersen’s getting some.”

            She nodded, and took Peachblossom’s head back onto her lap.

            “Go ahead.”

            He spread his hands on poll and forehead, concentrating, and after a moment ears twitched, the muzzle moved slightly.

            “Come back now, boy. Come back.” She stroked him, heart bursting. His head moved again, then bucked in her hands as he whinnied. “Hold still boy! You’re hurt. Hold still!” Zerhalm’s hands pressed against him, glowing. “It’s alright, boy. I’m alright, but your rear hind’s a mess. Daine’s coming. Just hang on. Don’t move, you’ll make it worse. Shh now. It’s alright. We did well. The enemy’s all dead. Shh.”

            How much he understood she didn’t know but he quieted, letting her hold him and snorting softly, shuddering with pain until Zerhalm pulsed more magic into his head, and returned to his leg, holding it as still as he could. Ersen was waiting with a bucket and Kel inched forward, trying to raise Peachblossom’s shoulder enough for him to drink.

            “Let me, Protector.”

            Carefully positioning herself, Quenuresh shot web from her spinnerets onto her two foremost legs, making a rough cradle, and with an effort Kel lifted Peachblossom enough for her to slip it under his chest and withers. Bracing herself Quenuresh lifted smoothly, slowly, angling him forward so his head could reach into the bucket as Ersen held it for him. Eventually he seemed eased, and the spidren lowered him slowly back to rest his head on Kel’s lap again.

            Dusk was deepening and around her Kel was aware of men setting watchfires, carefully clearing ground and laying stones to stop anything else catching. Others dragged tauroses into a heap and piled wood lower on the hill to burn the body of the mage. The temperature was dropping and fires welcome. A blanket settled over her shoulders and Neal sat beside her, offering a waterbottle. She drank thirstily, feeling better at once. Seaver had another blanket to spread over Peachblossom—his own, she saw, which she’d left folded in his stall.

            Seaver gave a pale smile. “Tobe sent it. He’s worried sick.”

            He would be, of course, but there wasn’t anything she could do. She nodded thanks , watching him carefully tuck the blanket around the gelding’s barrel and cover his wounded leg while she leaned against Neal, hands stroking Peachblossom. Resisting the sleepiness of healing she let her mind drift until it was time for the gelding to drink again.

 

* * * * *

 

It was past midnight when Daine arrived. Kel had had more clothes fetched and as the hawk cried and circled down between the fires a soldier stood, holding them up, and took them a few yards into the trees before politely retreating. The hawk perched and glided down, and a few moments later Daine emerged from the trees, face drawn with worry.

            “Kel, I’m sorry to have taken so long. I was at Steadfast. Peachblossom’s hurt?”

            Mutely Kel pointed to the gelding’s leg as Seaver drew away the blanket and Daine’s eyes widened.

            “Odd’s bobs, what did _that_?”

            “Tauros. He was rearing and it charged him from behind. Can you …” She let her voice trail away before it could break.

            “I’ll try, but it’s bad, Kel.”

            Cross-legged, Daine laid hands on Peachblossom’s gaskin and her face became remote. To Kel’s surprise she could see copper fire spilling from Daine’s hands and winding around and through the torn skin from cannon to hip and she twitched. Quenuresh leant down, voice soft,

            “You see the wild magic? Do you see the great roil of it that is the Godborn or only that which spills from her?”

            Kel shook her head, still watching twining strands of fire being absorbed. Peachblossom trembled and she soothed him.

            “Then your vision is probably just a residue of the Hag’s healing. It may linger a while, but I would expect it to fade.”

            “Good.” She didn’t need any more strange sights.

            Quenuresh laughed softly. “You are learning. Yet it is beautiful.”

            It was, and Kel watched as more and more sank into Peachblossom’s leg until it glowed. Neal brought a roll and tea, fortunately the soldier’s kind, and she ate and drank gratefully. It was dawn when Daine straightened, wiping her forehead.

            “He’ll live, Kel, but he won’t fight or joust again. I’m sorry, but the bones weren’t just broken, they were smashed to bits. Zerhalm did a fine job or I’d have been too late to do anything. He should be able to walk and trot, but he’ll not be able to gallop or carry you in armour.”

            “So long as he lives, Daine. He’ll be happy at pasture, won’t you, boy? He’s earned that.” She looked at her friend, seeing how tired she looked and knew she’d pushed herself hard to get here, as well as pouring out magic. “Thank you. I … couldn’t bear losing him like this.”

            Daine smiled. “It’s alright, Kel. You never ask for yourself and he’s an old friend. He’s groggy but he can walk back if he goes carefully. And I’m afraid people are waiting to hear from both of us.”

            With Quenuresh’s help Peachblossom was helped up, whinnying softly as weight came on to his leg. The men standing round the fires watched with wonder, and scurried to gather gear when Kel nudged him into a walk. The spidren stayed with them to the foot of the slope where the big gelding could walk more easily, then made her farewell.

            “I must return to my kin. They will wonder why I have been so long.”

            “Of course.” Kel turned to her. “Is there anything you can tell me about that mage? You said you sensed his spells.”

            “Yes, when he moved out of the woods and cast them more widely.” She considered. “He was quite powerful, but I think his Gift was largely in concealment and illusion and I am armed against those. I did not recognise what you left of him and his power was not such that his name would have been spoken where I might hear it. I doubt he could have controlled those tauroses alone for long.”

            Kel frowned. “Define long?”

            “Weeks, maybe.”

            “Just a shepherd then. Not the master.”

            “Indeed. I will think on it.”

            “Thank you.” Kel hesitated but trusted her instincts. “You don’t have a hand I can shake, Quenuresh, and hugging you isn’t possible either. But …” She leaned forward and as she had seen Irnai do reached a hand to touch Quenuresh’s cheek, finding the skin soft, and let her arm drop. “Thank you for everything. I will tell the King that at its first hard test you have honoured our treaty in the fullest measure.”

            The spidren’s eyes gleamed. “To be surprised by a mortal twice in the same day at my age. Life around you is interesting, Protector.”

            She moved away, shadow huge in the early light, and Kel caught up with Peachblossom. The trip to New Hope was slow, but no-one said anything as she walked beside the horse who’d been everything to her. Who still was. Climbing the roadway at last, her leg aching fiercely and Peachblossom’s obviously as tender as a sore tooth, they were met by a charging Tobe, face crumpled with emotions that darkened as she and Daine gently told him of the gelding’s new limitations. Faces peered soberly at them as they passed the gatehouse, but Kel couldn’t deal with them now. She left Tobe to care for Peachblossom in the stables with a hug that threatened to break her control, and took simple reports from Morri and Fanche on Varlan, recovering but asleep, and Jarna, mute but physically unhurt, before asking Neal and Daine to come with her to the spellmirror. Reluctantly she included Brodhelm and Uinse, whose eyes were dark with sorrow for Crener.

            She put a hand on his arm. “He did well, Uinse, and Varlan very well. You were right to make me take them with me or I’d not be here. Wallan and Pevis died too, and Esner’s hurting. We’ll see to them all tomorrow. Now, come please. I’m only going to do this once, and it’s not to be repeated to anyone. You’ll see why.”

            Neal sealed the conference room with green fire before working the spellmirror to summon Vanget and Wyldon. When their concerned faces peered out, seemingly side by side, she cut short greetings and began a swift narration of why she’d been where, with whom, when the scream and choked-off horn call came. The combat sequence unreeled, and she emphasised the initial surprise of the attack, felling one guard, the other who’d done his best but been taken from behind, the tactical sense of the tauroses, and the mage with mud-brown magic, adding what Quenuresh had said about his power. Her rape she passed over by saying she’d been knocked out for an unknown period; emotion clawed and she knew the rigidity of her mask was scaring Neal and Daine.

            She took a deep breath. “I woke in a grey place I can’t describe. The Black God was there.” Word for word she told them what he’s said about the tauroses, but omitted his forgiveness and the Hag’s words, saying only she’d appeared and sent Kel back.

            “You died.” Vanget’s voice was very flat and Kel shrugged.

            “Apparently I’m not allowed to just yet. Or not from this cause.” She told him what Quenuresh had said about the rules binding Uusoae, and Daine abruptly nodded.

            “That’s right. She’s bound in starfire for starting the Immortals War, but if these were chaos creatures the gods would intervene. Uusoae’s rebellion roused Father Universe and Mother Flame.” Everyone stared at the Wildmage, who shrugged. “Numair and the King know the story. Ask them if you must, but what Quenuresh said makes sense.”

            Both commanders drummed fingers in such unison Kel almost smiled.

            “Very well, but I want Numair’s analysis as soon as possible.” Vanget growled something low in his throat. “Another cursed mage.”

            “And not the only one.” He stared at Kel. “The Black God said ‘others of their kind’ about the tauroses. I don’t know if that meant chaos-touched ones, but if Maggur’s keeping immortals of any kind to send at us in groups he’ll need more than one mage.”

            Daine nodded again, face bleak. “Yes. Ozorne needed lots.” She frowned. “But he _had_ lots. Maggur doesn’t and he would need them. His giants volunteer, but no other immortals I know of.”

            There was a nasty silence until Wyldon, rubbing his brow with a drawn and set face, looked up. “Keladry, gods know I’m sorry to ask this, but is it at _us?_ or was it at _you?_ I really don’t like an attack on a remote group happening just when you were the nearest support, and not fully equipped or guarded.” He raised a hand, eyes dark. “I mean no criticism. You _were_ being careful—two lancers as escort and men everywhere around, but it feels like a strike at _you_ specifically. Closely observed and exactly timed. If the gods hadn’t intervened …”

            Kel’s mind became cold, turning this over. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. An assassin, yes, or a war party targeting me. But this? It doesn’t seem … I don’t know,  but it doesn’t feel right.”

            “He takes hostages and used a necromancer. Why not this?”

             She groped for a thought. “Taking hostages is honourless, Wyldon, but it’s direct. Obey or your child dies. Your wife or friend dies. And I don’t think he ever _liked_ Blayce. Used him, surely, and wanted the killing devices, but it was Blayce who wanted the children to _suffer_ , Maggur just looked away. Stenmun did his dirty work for him. And to _plan_ this … I can’t see it.”

            “Well, I’ll take that under advisement.” Vanget’s voice had become brisk. “You’ve given us what matters, Lady Knight, and we’ll take it from here. You need to rest, and so does Daine.” His face darkened. “I’m sick and angry this happened, and very grateful you’re still with us, however it came about. And not just because you’re obviously at the heart of the gods’ attentions in this war, and we need you badly. You’ve lost people today and I know how that hurts, but the enemies are dead and you’re not.” He frowned. “Even if you were. Gods. Either way, go, sleep.”

            His half of the spellmirror blanked, and she looked at Wyldon.

            “He’s right. Gods all bless, Keladry.”

            “I think they already have, Wyldon.”

            Neal had a very odd expression but before he could start again on her need for healing or offer some vile tea she summoned strength for some crisp commander mode. Terse discussion arranged a temporary duty schedule with a white-faced Brodhelm and Uinse, and Kel reluctantly agreed burials could be delayed a day so Neal could try to get the mute widow in a state to attend her husband’s last journey. Then she sent them all on their ways, showing Daine to the nearest guest quarters, and finally made it to her own. The washroom and privy behind most doors beckoned and with water trickling into the basin and her face stifled in a towel she let herself go at impossible last.

            Eventually still she hauled herself up and stripped to sponge herself down properly. The cold water stung; or didn’t, and she looked at herself with dawning horror. Her left breast that had been so oddly clean was flesh only in part, its dome replaced by a blunt, smooth greyness that had no sensation. Oblong marks on the boundary with living skin traced the imprint of flat teeth and her mons was similarly scarred, grey, numb hairless lines reaching jaggedly across her inner thighs. She traced them, feeling nothing, realising they were from barbs on the tauros’s pizzle and that she had died from bloodloss. Her living flesh stung and there were little burns spotted around. The inner numbness was still there, and she knew the lines of damage must extend inside her, that Yuki’s question had been unalterably answered. Whatever kind words gods said and however they seemed to dance about her with cries of encouragement, this too had been taken from her, as if her stigmata as a female knight and lonely chastity were not to trusted and true incapacity were needed, her life made an empty vessel filled only with others’ service. Daine had told her to be careful what she prayed for and her half-meant thought about dedicating herself to the Goddess had been acted on by higher powers.

            _My daughter’s healing will be only of your life._

            She lay, silent tears rolling into her pillow, arms by her sides. Sleep, when bone-tiredness finally claimed her, was as dreamless as stone.


	7. Explosions

**Chapter Seven — Explosions**

_October_

 

The burials took place in bright sunshine and cold, still air, couples sharing a grave and soldiers side-by-side with farmers. The plots had been dug in a row next to the mass grave, beyond its edging of burned timbers, and as the first New Hope burials Kel could set her own precedents. Lacking any priest she led the ceremony, and at each grave had grieving kin and comrades speak of the lives that had been lived. The widow Jarna, sufficiently recovered in her wits to attend, could only sob, but six orphans recalled their parents’ care and gruffly emotional soldiers friends’ bravery and foibles. For Crener Kel spoke of his cheerful admission of the rams he’d rustled and lamb he’d eaten. When all had spoken who would, she named all eight dead not as refugees of Tirrsmont or convicts and soldiers of the realm but as men and women of New Hope, and invoked the Black God’s peace for them all, his words rising to her lips with a careful twist and silent prayer.

            “They died in our service and I pray they shall find their deaths their grace, and his mercy infinite. So mote it be.”

            “So mote it be.”

            To everyone’s surprise save hers chimes rang and wind soughed in stillness. People glanced at one another but she led them away without a word, only speaking again as they reached the picketed horses to send everyone briskly about their work. The children who’d come she saw back to New Hope herself with Neal, Seaver, and men of Crener’s, Varlan’s, Wallan’s, and Pevis’s squads.

            Olleric’s squad, who’d drawn the unenviable duty of burning the tauroses, reported in late afternoon, faces white. The job was done—mostly, for something had been at the corpses.

            “The heads was missin’, Lady Kel.”

            Kel blinked. Olleric was a sensible, experienced man. “Missing?”

            “Cut clean off, and gone. It looked like single blows.”

            “You’d need an axe or a good sword for that sort of thing.”

            “Or a steel wing, maybe. The bodies wasn’t messed with otherwise, but there was a stormwing smell to ’em.”

            What stormwings might want with tauros heads Kel couldn’t imagine and had no wish to try; nor could she summon pity for dead immortals and important matters beckoned, so she shoved the puzzle to the back of her mind, thanked Olleric, and dismissed his squad to the bathhouse.

            She had used the delay in the burials while Neal worked with Jarna to have quiet conversations with Varlan, getting his version of what had happened, and subsequently with Ersen, Brodhelm, Merric, Uinse, Jacut, Fanche, and Saefas. On the evening of the funerals she stood after the meal and ordered everyone to assemble on the green. The weather had begun to turn, fitful wind promising rain; coats were drawn tight, and Kel stood on a plinth she’d had the carpenters make by the flagpole. She hadn’t demanded immortals come but the basilisks and ogres were there.

            “This is going to sound cold, and I’m sorry for that, but it matters. You all know Crener, Wallan, and Pevis died, and Varlan and I didn’t.” She saw puzzled looks. “What you don’t know is that Varlan and I were wearing our griffin-bands, and those who died weren’t. They’d complained the feathers itched under their helmets, and either not sewn them in as ordered or taken them out again.”

            Heads dropped. She knew her voice was flat, the rebuke too blunt, but couldn’t find the mode; the lie about her survival was a sick feeling.

            “No, it’s not that simple. A griffin-band won’t save anyone from anything by itself. But yes, it _is_ that simple. There was a mage spewing illusions that didn’t fool me or Varlan, but fooled our dead. And I noticed something else, because while I was indecent after the attack and cloaked by Quenuresh, men there weren’t looking at a naked woman—so I wonder how many of them had their griffin-bands on too.” She focused on the soldiers, her gaze raking them. Maybe some on the hill _had_ had their bands on, but if so they weren’t saying. “It was in my standing orders. It still is, and they _will_ be obeyed. Griffin-bands are added to weekly inspections, and anyone missing one is on latrines for a week. Any sentry or guard without one on duty anywhere is on latrines for a _year_.”

            She didn’t pause despite the shock in their faces.

            “Civilians, wear bands when you’re outside the walls.  There are plenty and more are being made. My stash of feathers is nearly gone but we should have more from the winter moult soon. Keep the bands with you, get used to wearing them. Children too, all ages. Sir Neal, Sir Merric, Sir Seaver, and the Company Eight mages will hold classes in the evenings, starting tomorrow, on how to deal with it if you can see reality and others are seeing illusion. I expect to see _everyone_ there. New Hope will _not_ lose one more life we _needn’t_ lose.”

            She paused, breath steaming, seeing unease at her harsh voice.

            “We all know, most of us twice over, what it is to lose people to enemy mages doing something we didn’t expect. And that mage who hid the tauroses until they were only feet away won’t have been the only one King Maggot has. We’ll see more, and maybe they’ll kill more of us. But they won’t do it just because they can chuck some illusion at us.”

            Another breath, her mind and voice very cold.

            “And there’s one more thing. I hear there’s talk about Quenuresh being there but not helping, so know this, all of you. She came at a run as soon as she heard the horn. She killed the last tauros when it had me down. She knew Jarna was alive and guided soldiers to her. And she saved more than my life and modesty—she helped save Peachblossom, and if I hear one word slandering her courage or integrity I _will_ make that person eat their lies whether it takes words or fists or steel.” She made one try at a better note to end on. “I know she’s frightening, and no beauty. But so am I, and she was true to her word in our need. To go on doubting her isn’t caution, but shame, and I won’t have it. That’s all.”

            She stepped down and walked away to her rooms accompanied only by an anxious Tobe, stealing sidelong glances. The soldiers had it coming, and not even Merric or Uinse, who _knew_ what a vital difference a griffin-band could make, had enforced her order; nor Brodhelm, though he’d not make such a mistake again after their private meeting. But whether she had authority to order civilians to wear anything was debatable, and she’d carry that if it meant one fewer trip to Haven. But she knew she should have been able to handle it better, less abrasively, and regretted that as distantly as the warmth and ease she couldn’t summon. When she got to her room Tobe followed her in, face twisting.

            “Are you angry with me? I don’t always wear my band but I will, I promise.”

            This at least she could hope to do right and sat, enfolding him in her hug. The pressure against her side and unfeeling breast was a balm.

            “No, Tobe, I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself, really, for not having realised so many soldiers weren’t obeying my order. I wanted to shake them up so they wear them from now on, always, and no more forget than you’d leave Peachblossom or Hoshi all lathered to play.”

            “You sounded really hard and cold.” His voice was small against her shoulder. “I’ve never heard you like that.”

            “I’m sorry, Tobe. I … it was pretty hard on me, the other day. And then Peachblossom …” She bit her lip. “I know it’s hard on you too.”

            “He’s alright. I’ve rubbed him down every morning and evening, and Zerhalm sees him every few hours. He’s standing better on the leg now.”

            “That’s good.” She hadn’t known of Zerhalm’s continuing care and was filled with gratitude to the Scanran, “But he has to retire, you know? I won’t be able to ride him into battle again, or to joust. And I won’t be able to ride him at all in armour.” A thought she’d been holding off crystallised and she eased back, searching the boy’s face. “Actually, Tobe, you’re the person who should ride him, when he can walk more easily. Daine said we should give it at least two weeks, though.”

            The Wildmage had left the day after the attack for Northwatch, to explain more to Vanget about divine rules governing chaos creatures. She’d told Kel something of how she knew about them, leaving her friend bemused but with a vision of Kitten loudly scolding Lord Mithros that was a glowing coal of comfort amid the darkness in her head.

            “Me?” Tobe’s eyes were round.

            “You. No-one else can ride him anyway, and he’ll need more than pasture to be happy.” She tried to think it through. “I wonder … Going up and down the roadway’s not going to be easy for him, for a while. We could build a little stable in the corral for him. It’ll be too cold in winter, but he might get six weeks down there. Do you think he’d like that?”

            Tobe did, and when asked Peachblossom agreed it would be better than a stall with no view. He was subdued, perhaps from pain, but also at having let Kel down. She and Tobe spent a long time with her arms round the gelding’s neck and his around her waist, and a few days later, with demands of harvest slackening, she gave orders. Limestone blocks from the passageway to the lookout post made a snug building with room for three or four horses, and after petrifying the roof-shingles Amiir’aan (with help from St’aara) set warmth in a half-dozen blocks placed round the inside, a spell he could renew every few days. Thereafter the now slow and awkward gelding could usually be seen in the field outside the corral, exercising his leg with or without Tobe’s help and the encouragement of Jump or the sparrows. His continuing docility told Kel he was still in pain, and she quietly added to the gateguards’ duties each dawn and dusk the despatch of pairs—no-one went anywhere outside alone—to open and close the locking iron gate the smiths had made for the gap in the corral wall.

            Her speech had other repercussions, good and bad. Discipline tautened and her orders were obeyed, but the harshness she’d shown and the coldness she couldn’t keep from voice and manner because all her warmth was walled away, as untouchable as the pain behind glass, leached happiness from those around her. No-one bantered with her any more, and if the faces that obeyed lost no respect—quite the contrary—they no longer showed many smiles. They even tried to be openly warm to Quenuresh, when the spidren came to provide another batch of webbing and stayed to talk to St’aara and Kuriaju, but the best Kel could manage was grave thanks.

             She was worrying people, she knew, especially her friends, and Neal was getting harder to fend off, but gave her the wrong opening one night at evening meal when her silence led him to broach the subject with too many ears about even if she’d wanted to discuss it. She cut him off, seeing the hurt in his eyes, and when they’d finished eating took him outside to the kitchen garden while there was no-one to hear.

            “Neal, I know you mean well but if I won’t discuss it with you in private why ever would you think I’ll discuss it in the messhall?”

            He swallowed hurt and tried to be healerly. “Kel, you have to talk about it sometime. It’s killing you.”

            “No, Neal, it isn’t, any more. It killed me at the time. Now it’s just what I have to live with.” He jerked in shock. “And what would you like me to say anyway? That I got myself raped to death in an open field, and yes, it hurt more than anything in life ever did or could? That the Black God had his very odd daughter heal me and sent me back because the tauroses broke some divine rule, but not anyone else who died on their horns or pizzles, sorry, Jarna, I don’t know why? That I’ve new scars to add to my ugly collection? Neal, I am exactly as gods arranged for me to be, and so are our dead, and until I get the chance of dying again and getting it right second time, none of that’s going to change. So leave it, please. It’s just one more thing I can’t do.”

            He was white but held his ground, shaking slightly, though whether with grief or rage, and if so at whom or what, Kel couldn’t tell and found she didn’t much care; or couldn’t.

            “Kel, say every word of that’s true, though I don’t believe the gods wanted anyone dead or you crippled like this—and you are, as much as Peachblossom—I still tell you you have got to talk about it with someone. If not me, then Yuki, or Fanche.” He gestured helplessly. “Peliwin Archer, even. She knows what it means to be raped, by a man anyway. Or one of the gods, in private prayer, if no mortal will do. Kept inside you it’s poison, and it has to be drained. You agreed it was true for the children having nightmares after we got them back from Stenmun and Blayce. Why think it isn’t true for you?”

            “I’m not a child any more, it lasted for a few minutes, not days on end, and I was three-quarters unconscious before it even started. There’s no-one I want to talk to about it. Certainly not Peliwin, who wants only to forget her ordeal, and especially not any gods, who doubtless all saw it anyway. I’m sorry, Neal, but like Peachblossom I’m as healed as I’m ever likely to be.” Pain rolled within her. “I’m sorry it makes my temper uncertain. I’m trying to learn to live with the memories, but it’ll take me a while.”

            Neal looked entirely miserable but something flared in his eyes. “Kel, you don’t lose your temper at all. I’d welcome it if you did. So would almost everyone, I think—it’d be a sign you were feeling _something_. You say you’re sorry, Mithros knows what for, but you don’t sound sorry or angry or anything, just a long way away.”

            “A lot of me is, Neal. I think some of me didn’t make it back from the Peaceful Realms or wherever that greyness was. Or maybe it’s like the pain old soldiers say they feel in limbs they’ve lost, except what I’m missing is in my mind.” _And inside my body._ “Please, just leave it. There’s nothing you or anyone can do or say that’ll change anything.”

            She walked away and he subsequently obeyed her, though misery never left his eyes and the darkening of his joy with Yuki tore at her heart behind its glass. Prompted or on her own account, Yuki tried to get her to talk, but though Kel was gentler than with Neal she was equally adamant. Whatever the loving sex of a married couple might be it wasn’t related to what she’d experienced any more than Vinson’s lecherous brutality, and knowing Yuki desired to be with child Kel wouldn’t have spoken of such a topic to her even if she’d had anything to say. Fanche she also rebuffed, as politely as she could, turning the conversation instead to Jarna, who had at last had some account of what she’d seen coaxed from her by Fanche and Saefas.

            As Kel had suspected, the attack had come out of the blue—or mud-brown—with no-one aware enemies were near until the farmer closest to the woodeaves had been gored. Another tauros must have already been close to Wallan and gored him as he blew the horn, hurling him down the hill to land where Kel had seen him. How Jarna had survived she didn’t know, but she’d frozen in shock under her husband’s gutted corpse, drenched in his blood; Kel could only assume the tauros that killed him had been the one taken down by Pevis’s spear, and that she with poor Crener and Varlan had then been distraction enough. Grimly, she revised her standing orders with Brodhelm, Merric, and Uinse: parties working near woodeaves or dead ground would have spearmen looking outwards under griffin-bands, and there’d be more regular training in spearwork, sweeping with the leaf-blades as if they were glaives, not just stabbing and risking getting the point caught, as Pevis had. She made a note to get more glaives, which women among work parties could use more effectively, but that would take time.

            “Slings!” Merric sat up sharply. “Like goatherds use. There’s stones enough for everyone to have a few in their pockets, and a sling folds up small. Easy to make, too. But if you can stop a bear with a good slingshot, it ought to give even a tauros a headache if you hit it between the eyes.”

            “Are they that good?” Seaver was doubtful. “I’ve seen lads drive off a fox, but never a bear, and it ran from fright when they missed it.”

            “They can be, Seaver. There’s a boy at Hollyrose who can hit a mark every time at fifty yards, hard enough to gouge a treetrunk, and he doesn’t do badly at greater distances. He can hit the pond from a _thousand_ feet, most times, when he really winds up. It’s about fifty foot across. I know that’s no use against a tauros—but a dozen stones dropping at five or eight hundred feet might do damage to a charging group, and at closer ranges it’s got to be better than nothing. At least it could buy time for people to run and reinforcements to come.”

            Kel felt some enthusiasm. “Good thinking. We’ll have sling classes.”

            The experiment during the next evening’s regular practice session, with a trio of goatherding lads among the refugees who claimed ability, attracted much attention and the speed at which stones flew, with fair accuracy over shorter ranges, was impressive enough to ensure plenty of volunteers to learn. Kel soon came to enjoy slingwork, liking the way you had to cock your wrist and when you got it right the sharp increase in accuracy that was possible as well as the odd purity of the notes amid the whirring noise before you released. When the best among them found themselves issued with spidren-web slings made by Quenuresh during her next visit, and discovered the elasticity of the webbing increased speed and power, competition to improve redoubled.

            It was a hazardous business and there were accidents—nasty gashes and bruises, a broken nose and cheekbone as well as some permanently dislodged teeth. Neal and Morri complained about needless traffic to the infirmary, and Kel put Connac in charge of training-ground discipline with dire threats of feeding to the pigs anyone who disagreed. One sow was sporting a bruised flank from the previous evening and her well-timed squeal of agreement brought general laughter that Kel joined in her own surprise. It was the first emotion she’d shared since the attack, and people noticed, offering smiles as they got back to whirling and shooting more carefully.

            That night Kel found herself woken by Tobe’s frantic shaking from a nightmare of memory, in which she wasn’t remotely unconscious and everything happened again, slowly and unstoppably. Her scream had brought him running to find her rigid in her bed, face transfigured with pain and bathed in sweat; her nightshirt was drenched. Stumbling to her privy she was vilely sick, and after she’d wiped herself down and donned a clean nightshirt with leggings for warmth it took her a long time to calm Tobe, trying to reassure him nightmares faded. She knew they weren’t Lord Gainel’s doing—the experiences needed no sending—but certainties crumbled when Tobe asked in a small voice if the Hag was like the Nothing Man, and at her shocked denial told her she’d been cursing the god’s daughter when he’d found her. After finally getting him to bed with hot milk and an equally disturbed Jump for company, she lit a fire and sat for a long time staring into the flames. Next day she went to see Neal, shutting the door to his office behind her and asking him to seal the room magically. When he had she sat and met his gaze.

            “You were right. I’m sorry. I’m having nightmares I can’t deal with, and it has to stop, for Tobe’s sake. I can’t talk to anyone here, Neal. I’m sorry. But I’ve thought of someone I could talk to, a woman who knows about gods and violence both, and me. Will you ask Lady Alanna if she can come? Or I’ll go to her at Frasrlund.”

            Neal smacked his head. “I’m an idiot, Kel. I should have thought of her.” He thought a moment. “I’m pretty sure she’s heading to Corus for Midwinter, so she’ll be leaving by full moon after Samhain, or before if snow starts. That’s five weeks. And we have to head south not much later, so I’ll ask her to ride south with us.”

            “That makes sense. I can hold on that long.”

            “Do you want something to make you sleep?”

            “No. They aren’t dreams, Neal—they’re memories. Waking up is my only refuge—they’re still in my head but awake I can push them away. To be held in sleep …” She shivered.

            “Alright. I didn’t think you’d accept. But something to hope for should help a bit.”

            It did, but not much. More useful was a visit to Lord Gainel’s shrine in the deepening cold of a night watch, after she’d struggled awake from under the tauros yet again. Over a cone of incense she whispered prayer that the Dream King let her wake as soon as memory began to claim her from sleep. There was no answer but as she crouched, letting her mind drift with swirls of breath, she felt comforted and thereafter did seem to wake more swiftly from her recurrent helplessness on the afternoon hillside. Broken sleep left her increasingly tired and having to watch the temper Neal said she never lost, but she got an astonishing amount of work done, and for the first time since coming north caught up with reading and letters owed her family.

            They were determinedly busy with minutiae of life at New Hope and the royal and divine visits. She did mention that they’d taken casualties from a Scanran raid in September, but said nothing of her own losses. She didn’t think her mother would be fooled by such evasion but at least she’d managed something normal, and her feelings for the fort—little town, really—she found herself running were genuine, however all emotions remained muted. When she managed a fairly cheerful letter to her always disapproving Seabeth-and-Seajen grandmother, about the dedication ceremonies and the pickling skills Yuki was teaching the cooks, and fell dreamlessly asleep at her desk for several hours one rainy evening over an absurd Gallan romance she’d borrowed from Neal, waking with a stiff neck and numb arm, she thought she’d started on a slow road back.

 

* * * * *

 

The ides of October were enlivened by three unexpected visits. The first, unwelcome one, the day before full moon, began when Kel was called from lunch by Sergeant Ersen, on gatehouse duty, because a small group of riders had paused on the stone bridge over the Greenwoods, pointing and gesticulating, before approaching the moatbridge. Standing under the lintel Kel focused her spyglass and Ersen saw her lips whiten.

            “You know them, Lady Kel?”

            “It’s Tirrsmont and his son.” Ersen hissed as Kel snapped the spyglass shut. “I don’t know what they want but unless they’ve orders from Lord Wyldon or General Vanget they’re not coming in. Send for Brodhelm and Uinse, please, and Fanche and Saefas.”

            “At once, my Lady.”

            They were assembled behind her outside the gate by the time the horsemen approached. A thin-faced man in a dirty chainmail byrnie with a Tirrsmont captain’s badge and leather leggings rode in front of his Lord, overweight as ever and wrapped in heavy furs; Sir Voelden, also bulging in armour, flanked his father, while a dozen men-at-arms rode behind them, haubergeons as ill-kept as their captain’s byrnie. Negotiating the sharp turn the captain looked up.

            “Make way for his Lordship, you fools. Clear the road now.”

            Kel didn’t budge and felt Brodhelm tense. “Not until I know his business, captain. And I suggest you learn manners fast.”

            His eyes bulged and she saw his legs tense to spur his horse forward but Tirrsmont barked and he awkwardly backed, seething resentment but letting the noble forward. The lord’s beaky nose didn’t match his bulging cheeks and chins, and he looked at her coldly over it.

            “You are the so-called Lady Knight Cavall was stupid enough to put in charge here?”

            Kel neither nodded nor bowed. “Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Commander. And you are?”

            His cheeks bulged. “Don’t be impertinent, girl. You know who I am.”

            “We have never met.”

            Sir Voelden brought his stallion up beside his father’s, sneering. “You know me well enough, wench. Stop this idiot charade and let us in. We’ve business to deal with.”

            Kel looked at him, Yamani mask tightly in place, and kept her voice level. “I know you, Voelden of Tirrsmont, for a man who fouled the field of honour with attempted murder.”

            He flushed. “It was an accident.”

            “Really? Swear that by gods’ oath and I’ll believe you.” His eyes dropped: it had been no accident and whoever swore a false gods’ oath, or broke one truly made, would find blood boiling in their veins. She felt like spitting but that was Quinden’s style. “This is your father?”

            “Of course it is.” Voelden’s voice was truculent.

            “So.” She looked at the older man. “What business do you claim here, Tirrsmont?”

            His face darkened at her lack of deference, but however his ancestors might be in the Book of Silver and hers only recently in the Book of Copper she was noble, and more importantly a knight commander to whom he’d shown no respect at all.

            “This is my land, Mindelan, and you and these shirkers you coddle are here on my sufferance. I’ll ha—”

            That was a claim she could not let stand for a moment. “By what right do you claim this land? Your boundary is the first ridge west of your castle.”

            “This valley has always been mine. I had men surveying here before the war started, and—”

            “It is not yours. This is an army fort under military jurisdiction, so I ask again, what is your business here?”

            He glared furiously, his voice tight. “It will be mine soon. You have men from Tirrsmont here. Miners. I require their labour. Order them to assemble. Their chits and brats can stay.”

            So that was it—his coffers must be feeling the drain of unmined silver as well as lost tithes from people he hadn’t bothered to defend and refused to succour. And knowing well what all the surviving Tirrsmonters in her care had to say about their former lord, she also knew what custom, law, and army regulations each said.

            “You are mistaken. All civilians here have been driven from their homes by the enemy and denied succour by their former lords. Liege-oaths, if ever sworn, are void.” Not that he’d have bothered with such formalities for commoners. “You have no claim on them, nor on this land. And if you desire army work parties to assist you elsewhere you must apply to my Lord of Cavall at Mastiff.”

            Tirrsmont had refused to take more refugees from his own or anyone’s lands. In any case the silver mines were closed with reason.

            “I’ve no time for that nonsense, Mindelan. They’re needed and they’re _mine!_ ” His voice rose. “I know what you’re about, you harlot, setting yourself up on my lands to whore with Cavall for a fief of your own. Well, you’ll not have what’s mine.”

            Kel’s head was spinning with his words. She could hear Brodhelm’s sharply drawn breath beside her and distant exclamations of anger, but her own voice stayed even though her gaze was hard.

            “Think what you like about me, Tirrsmont, though I’d be careful what you say of my Lord of Cavall. His lance is heavier than mine, and he does not suffer calumny idly. Nothing here is yours, neither land nor people, and you have no claim on any of it. Nor are you welcome here, prating of rights over people you abandoned.” His face was purple and Voelden’s the same, but Kel had had more than enough of parasitic lords. “Your request for labour is denied with cause. Your silver mines were closed last year because _you_ would not protect them, by order of my Lord of Goldenlake, confirmed by General Vanget, and you have no authority to reopen them or detail miners. Seek it at Northwatch, if you will, but you’ll get short shrift.”

            While they’d been speaking Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s soldiers had filled the gate behind her; others reinforced alures and gatehouse roof, staring with hostile eyes. Opening his mouth to retort Tirrsmont became aware of them, eyes sweeping around and face tightening with rage. He stared at her for a long moment.

            “You will regret this, Mindelan. Your whoring is common knowledge and it is long past time you were put in your place.”

            “Your son said much the same before I knocked him off his horse and rested my blade on his nose. Now get you gone before I knock you from yours and do the same.”

            It wasn’t pretty or quiet but they did go, father and son jostling their men dangerously and clattering down the roadway as the slovenly troops recovered themselves and turned to follow. The captain shot Kel a furious look as derisory insults came from the alures, and Kel shouted for silence, voice cracking.

            “They’re not worth your thought, people, and time’s wasting. Back to work, now. The show’s over.”

            Turning, she saw worry in Fanche’s and Saefas’s eyes, and the sturdy woman she’d come to rely on put a hand anxiously on her arm.

            “ _Can_ he claim overlordship here, my Lady?”

            Kel shook her head. “Not unless his fief-grant is formally extended, and I don’t think that’ll be happening. Lord Wyldon and General Vanget would certainly oppose him while the war continues.”

            “And after?” Saefas’s mouth turned down.

            She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think _any_ request of his would be looked on very kindly, though. The King’s no happier than Lord Wyldon with the way he’s behaved.”

            She left them muttering and went to her office to think. She hadn’t allowed sexual insults to bother her since her first page-year, before she’d even known what it was to think of a man with desire, and to her surprise discovered experience of rape hadn’t changed that. The irony of insistent accusations that she’d slept her way to knighthood and command when she’d finally lost her virginity only to fatal immortal force was bleak, and part of her hoped the Hag was entertained, but words Tirrsmont clearly thought deadly truths were just sour wind. But the accusation that she was acting to build a fief to claim for herself shook her badly. If she thought about it coldly New Hope _was_ already the match of many fiefs, with more than seven hundred souls—though Brodhelm’s men belonged elsewhere—and a fortified position few even of the oldest and wealthiest could match. But to her it was a safehold for refugees, who planted and sweated to feed themselves not to tithe of their labour to anyone, let alone a man who’d abandoned them. When she spoke by spellmirror to Wyldon that evening, apologetically explaining what had happened, his expression became thunderous.

            “He said that _I_ … that _you_ … Gods, I’ll have his head if he says that to my face.” Abruptly he flushed as red as she’d ever seen him and wouldn’t look at her. “Keladry, I’m so sorry he should speak to you in such a manner after …”

            His voice trailed away and she contemplated him gravely, suddenly wondering how _he_ was coping with his unshared knowledge of what had happened to her, and a determination rose in her that neither gods nor tauroses would take this friendship from her with everything else.

            “After I was raped by a beast? Wyldon, look at me.” Face still flushed he jerked up his head. “It’s of no account, truly.” And in itself it wasn’t, she realised, nightmares notwithstanding; what she grieved wasn’t involuntary chastity but wholeness, the woman who’d been able to think of dedicating herself to the goddess with a salt of self-mockery. “Would you hesitate to mention combat to a veteran who’d once been wounded? This is no different. Please don’t make it so.”

            He drew a breath, eyes gleaming as they came back to her. “As you wish, Keladry. You are worth a thousand of him.”

            “That’s not hard.” Her voice sounded normal but she could feel the flush his compliments always provoked. “In any case, I didn’t interrupt you because he was insulting. It’s what he said about New Hope as a fief, and the claims he tried to make. I checked the maps afterwards but I was right—his boundary’s two ridges east of here. What’s going on?”

            Wyldon sighed. “There’s been a lot of talk about New Hope. Inevitably. It’s an astonishing place, and you’ve done wonders with it, literally. The fact that it’s now the strongest fortification between Northwatch and Frasrlund is enough to have all sorts casting envious eyes, and the Crown Prince’s report on that dedication has put your name on _everyone’s_ lips. Again. Sir Myles warned me last week that a number of younger sons have begun to agitate for it to be formally chartered and granted. I was going to tell you when you next reported, not that it’s an army matter. But I hadn’t anticipated Tirrsmont making a claim. I should have—he’s always been as greedy as he is uncaring of liegers.”

            Kel found herself furious. “How do I stop him? And these pewling sons, whoever they are? No-one’s just walking in and claiming my people.”

            His eyebrows rose at her tone but his voice was suddenly bland. “The easiest way by far, Keladry, would be to claim it yourself.” She felt blood drain from her face but he went on remorselessly. “You call them your people, as any commander might, and they are— _all_ of them, not just the convict soldiers and Brodhelm’s men, but what, four hundred and odd souls. And ogres and basilisks. If you petition the Council, with their support as well as Vanget’s and mine, Goldenlake’s, the Lioness’s …”

            She stared. “I can’t do that!”

            “Why not? A year ago the Greenwoods valley was wilderness. Now it has a superb citadel and a thriving population, as well as the goodwill of eight gods. There _is_ a case that it become a fief—keeping it a ‘refugee fort’ is absurd—and only one person who clearly deserves to be its overlord. Overlady, rather.”

            Mithros knew what colour her cheeks were by now. “But I wasn’t—”

            “Of course you weren’t. You’ve never sought any reward for yourself beyond the right to try for knighthood. But gods know you’ve succeeded magnificently in all you’ve attempted. This is a logical step, entirely traditional.” A smile ghosted onto his face. “It’s deeply appropriate, actually, and if the King didn’t leap at it I’d be very surprised. _And_ the Council. The absence of any proper reward for you has been arousing comment, and those civilian purses the Prince gave out fuelled rather than dampened speculation.”

            “Wyldon, I _cannot_ do such a thing. We’re in the middle of a war! Maybe New Hope _should_ become a fief but this is no time to be playing for rank or money.”

            “Isn’t it? History disagrees, I think. But if that’s truly how you feel, ask the Council to put the question out of bounds until Maggur’s dead or vanquished and we have a proper treaty. It wouldn’t be as popular but I doubt they’d refuse _your_ request.”

            Her mind whirled. “ _That_ I could do. I just don’t want Tirrsmont or anyone else bullying in here and sending people he’s abandoned once into further hazard so he can get fatter yet.”

            “Quite right.” His smile broadened. “Did you really tell him to get himself gone before you unhorsed him?”

            Her flush was back but she didn’t drop her eyes. “I’m afraid I did. It was Voelden sitting there—”

            “Oh I’m not objecting. He’d earned a mortal challenge, never mind a controlled retort. And I’ve told you before not to doubt your authority so much—even if he’d been courteous he’s so far outside his rights he hasn’t a leg to stand on.”

            “Thank you.” She swallowed. “Can you advise me about petitioning the Council?”

            “Of course.” He thought, rubbing his forehead. “Send His Grace of Naxen notice of intent at once, copying Vanget and me. And get depositions from your people—civilians—about how they came to be there, and whose lordship they would welcome.” He held up a hand as her mouth opened. “Yes, they’ll name you, but you needn’t say that, just enter the whole lot into evidence to show none will welcome anyone else. Get immortals’ testimonies too, if they’re willing—remind everyone that taking on New Hope means taking on Quenuresh under solemn treaty already honoured in blood. And let your parents know. They have wide connections these days. I’ll talk to Vanget, and Goldenlake.” He looked a query. “I gather the Lioness is coming to you before heading south?”

            “Yes. Neal arranged it. He … I need to talk to her, about … something the Black God said to me. Something personal.”

            “Of course.” He didn’t indulge his obvious curiosity at her mention of the god and she was unspeakably grateful for his courtesy. “I imagine there’s much you might wish to talk to her about, and Mithros knows she’s been wanting to see you since the summer. Frasrlund’s been quiet so she’ll be on her way soon, I’d think.”

            They parted with easier talk of what was happening along the front, minor skirmishes with small war parties and one more serious incursion to the east that Vanget’s companies had repelled. Kel went to bed with more on her mind than memories and for once slept well, waking early but refreshed. An hour of pattern dances left her feeling restored, and a cautious meeting with Fanche after breakfast set collection of testimonies rolling. The immortals she talked to herself, needing her Yamani mask when all said flatly they’d accept no-one else’s authority, Quenuresh adding that her treaty with the King specified residence in the Greenwoods valley under Kel’s command at New Hope.

            The second, equally unwelcome mid-month visitors were a Scanran raiding group, who started a fearful scramble for safety by a large firewood party, taking advantage of a sunny day to comb the increasingly bare woods of the southern end of the valley; but the raiders took so many casualties from the slings and arrows of the woodgatherers and their guards that they started retreating even before reinforcements arrived. Five Scanrans died, at least two from slingshots that unhorsed them as they charged, in return for one guard from Olleric’s squad—leaving everyone grimly pleased. That evening Kel gave generous praise all round and there was a better atmosphere than there’d been since before the tauros attack.

            The third visit, altogether more entertaining if equally alarming, began when a small body of armed riders clattered over the bridges and up the roadway at a canter. Kel was waiting, duty squad behind her and men thickening on the alures, but with surprised pleasure recognised Keiichi noh Daiomoru with another blade-faced Yamani she didn’t know and a squad of the Own as escort. Sending a soldier at the run for Yuki and Neal she welcomed them in proper Yamani mode, bowing with hands on thighs and leading them personally through the gatehouse where both spoke their names and declared goodwill; the blade-faced man called himself Takemahou and the name tugged at Kel’s memory. By the time their horses had been led to the stables and the Ownsmen consigned to Brodhelm’s care, Yuki was jogging up from the main level in one of the Tortallan dresses she wore in the kitchens, Neal behind her. Her eyes were bright as she saw her brother but when they took in the other Yamani they widened and she slowed; her bow was much deeper than Kel’s had been, in the mode to a great lord. Eyeing him warily Kel waited for Keiichi formally to introduce his companion.

            “Lady Knight Commander, Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Shinkokami told you, I believe, that my Imperial Master has expressed His interest in the manner of living with spidrens you are pioneering, and requests you permit an observer of your experiment?”

            “She did, Keiichi- _sama_ , and it will be my honour to welcome any servant of His Imperial Majesty’s to New Hope.”

            “Allow me then to present to you Takemahou- _sensei_ , who comes as I do on our Imperial Master’s command.”

            _Sensei_ —the name clicked. Kel bowed again, matching Yuki. She _had_ heard of this man: his magename meant ‘mountain magic’ and he had once—it was fervently told—persuaded a lavaflow to detour round a town. Numair said it must have been a very small lavaflow, but still. More to the point, he stood _very_ high among Yamani mages and served the Emperor alone. Kel switched to Yamani in what she devoutly hoped was the right mode.

            “Takemahou- _sensei_ , it is our honour that you visit us.”

            “On the contrary, Lady Knight, the honour is mine to come where Lord Sakuyo laughed. I have heard most remarkable tales of you and of New Hope from Keiichi- _san_ and Her Royal Highness, and already I can see they were but shadows of the truth.”

            The excruciatingly polite ritual proceeded. Yuki was plainly embarrassed by her Tortallan dress and lacked a fan to hide her face but Kel introduced her ruthlessly with an equally flustered Neal, to Keiichi’s well-concealed amusement, and got the unexpected visitors first to guestrooms and then to lunch. The still glowing pillars and savour of the food provoked a spate of questions about divine blessings, with the whole business of the dedications. The mage was unfailingly polite, in Yamani and accented Tortallan, but like Numair wanted the oddest details. When he broached the topic of Lord Sakuyo’s laugh Kel had Neal and Yuki add their accounts, collared Seaver for his, and eventually, in desperation, hauled Takemahou off to see the shrines himself.

            After peering at each statue, lingering on Lord Sakuyo, the mage touched his fingers to his eyes, muttering. His yelp took everyone by surprise but Kel managed to catch him as he stumbled backwards, eyes watering before he could gasp cancellation of whatever he’d done to enhance his vision. She saw Neal and Seaver suppress laughs while Keiichi’s eyes brightened, but kept amusement out of her voice as she set him upright, enquiring blandly if something disturbed him.

            Eyes still streaming he drew himself up. “Blessed Keladry- _sama_ , on the second plane these shrines blaze godlight, Lord Sakuyo’s most of all. I am honoured by his laugh, I think.” He murmured again, touching his eyes quickly and snapping them shut before opening them again and giving her a much deeper bow than at the gatehouse. “You too are awash with godlight, my Lady, as no mortal I have ever seen.”

            Given the state of her flesh Kel wasn’t surprised, though the high Yamani honorific had been unexpected, and she found herself liking the man—he might be mage-prickly and demanding but he learned fast and could laugh at himself. Inspired, she laid a hand gently on his arm and quoted one of Kumo’s verses spoken at Sakuyo’s great April festival.

            “ _Even thunder stills / to hear Him ease His lungs._ ” She stayed in Yamani, dropping into the mode of instruction. “Takemahou- _sensei_ , we are all supplicants, commanding none but ourselves. That the gods’ purposes are greater than any understand is plain, and they attend us for their own reasons. But in so far as we are favoured it is in our desperation and need, not any imagined greatness. Please, walk freely among us today and ask as you will of what happened here. Tomorrow I will take you to meet Quenuresh.”

            Eyes glittering appreciation, as were Yuki’s and Keiichi’s, he bowed again and let her get back to her work, Neal and Yuki accompanying her and Keiichi catching them up on the green to clap her resoundingly on the shoulder.

            “Keladry- _sensei_ , that was entirely splendid.”

            “I’m no _sensei_ , Keiichi- _sama_.”

            “Oh but you are. Forgive contradiction, but besides becoming one of Sakuyo’s Blessed you have just dealt with a difficult man better than anyone I’ve ever seen save His Majesty. If that is not mastery, what is?”

            Kel gave him a straight look. “Lord Sakuyo’s favour, merely.”

            “No merely about it.”

            She’d never yet won an argument with Keiichi that she could remember, so after a brief discussion about the tokens of Blessedness he assured her would be sent as soon as may be, the sudden demand for so many having taken even His Imperial Majesty by surprise, she left him to his reunion with Yuki. The refugees to whom Master Takemahou (as he introduced himself in Tortallan) spoke during the afternoon seemed flattered that someone should come from Yaman to learn how they were doing something, and when Kel wore her kimonos that evening—in his honour and to make amends to Yuki for having presented her in a working dress—there was good cheer. It was the first finery Kel had worn since the attack, and though pulling on the undershift she’d looked sadly at her unfeeling breast it was a pleasure in a remote way to feel skirts swish, and know she looked as well as she ever did.

            The trip to see Quenuresh was interesting but not altogether hopeful. Takemahou, filmed in sweat, was extremely polite to the immortal, who listened carefully to his description of the problems on Wangetsushima and shook her head.

            “From what you say very young spidrens plague you, unlikely to listen to proposals of peace or be able to act on them. I am old among my kind, counting life in centuries, and long past the urgencies of first mating. Yet if there is an elder among them something might be done.” She suggested ways in which contact might be attempted, and taught him a spell to set on a message that should attract any spidren. “Use Old Thak for the messages—all of any maturity know it—and set one of these with them.” Extruding a dozen short lengths of web she touched them with forelegs, murmuring, and gave them to him. “If they have a mage of any degree it will be able to contact me—and should any do so, I will tell them how I have fared in Tortall. But—I intend no disrespect—I cannot assure them of your emperor’s good faith, for I have no experience of it. You will need to find a Protector of your own, and I doubt there can be two such mortals at one time.”

            Kel gave the spidren a glare that made her smile but Master Takemahou nodded gravely and assured Quenuresh the need for mutual good faith was understood.

            “We desire true peace, not a false lull. The Scanran raids on Wangetsushima have been bad in recent years also, and all there would welcome a lessened threat from the interior. Only”—he seemed hesitant —“may I ask, Quenuresh- _sensei_ , what we might offer in trade? This _cheese_ is no part of our diet in the Islands, and to many unclean.”

            Kel almost clapped a hand to her mouth. It was true that many Yamanis felt about cheese and all curdled milk much as most Tortallans felt about slivers of raw fish and strong _sake_ pickles, but the problem that now presented hadn’t occurred to her. Quenuresh merely nodded.

            “Cheese is a luxury, not a necessity. Meat and milk should be enough, or land to hunt undisturbed. It is competition for mating rights and the need to feed large broods that drives our aggression towards mortals in this realm, and towards one another in the Divine Realms. If that is addressed, it should suffice.”

            “Will not increase in their numbers then create the same problem again? The islanders’ resources are not infinite.”

            “They may. But if peace can once be achieved, the older spidrens will control their own and allow the population to grow only slowly.”

            Riding back to New Hope Takemahou was effusive in his thanks and praise, and asked Kel if there were anything he could do for New Hope.

            “My Imperial Master would wish it, and I will be happy to do all I may.” His voice dropped. “Speaking as a mage, I count myself in your debt for killing Blayce. Necromancy is the vilest magical art.”

            Kel wondered how long she’d continue to be surprised by the repercussions of her Scanran adventure. “Thank you. Forgive ignorance, Takemahou- _sensei_ , but while I know of course of your great feat with the lavaflow, I do not know what here might best suit your skills.”

            “I am a warmage—not in your Master Numair’s class, but not so far off. I diverted that lavaflow by blasting an overhang on the cliff above into its path, so it ran downhill another way.” He gave her what might have been a grin, but in his sharp face was more threat than relaxation. “One does not persuade a lavaflow to do anything politely, however the chroniclers may report it.”

            Pleased by his saturnine honesty and feeling ideas stir, she risked a return grin though her face was becoming unused to smiling. “I imagine not. But as a warmage far stronger than those here, there is something about which you might advise me.”

            Her plan for rockfalls above the trail had been defeated by practicality. If the piled rock were sufficient to inflict damage, and its support only a wooden cradle, timberwork had to be so massive neither Forist nor Anner were confident it could be blown with the mageblasts they could make. The basilisks could petrify a slighter construction to give it the necessary strength, but mageblasts then had almost no effect at all. Takemahou, though, saw no problem.

            “Certainly, Keladry- _sama_. I can make mageblasts far more powerful and augment them with a spell to direct force against a specific section of the cradles. Where did you have in mind to set these rockfalls?”

            Pulling up she pointed back along the trail, indicating several places, then across the valley to the end of the limestone cliffs, where broken crags ended close to flatland. It wouldn’t be as useful as ones above the trail, but if she ever faced a real siege part of the enemy’s encampment might be in its path.

            Takemahou nodded. “Good choices. And while your admirable moat means you would not desire any rockfall from the glacis, there is an overhang on the fin—there, do you see?—that might be mined to make it fall at command. It is well away from your walls but will offer shelter if the wind is south or west—the kind an enemy might take advantage of.”

            Kel’s grin was more genuine and the next days saw demonstration of a mageblast whose violent crack shattered a heavy spar, building and emplacement of cradles, and the astonishing sight of Master Takemahou climbing three hundred feet up the fin on spidren-web ropes to clamber about the overhang, planting a score of mageblasts in cracks and hollows along its sides and upper edge. He also helped with brute lifting power to put the first, large rocks in each cradle, and Kel was content: each rockfall could be built up over time, and she instituted a standing order that those going in their direction should take a sack of fist-sized stones from the spoil of the steadily lengthening tunnel to the lookout post, set ready in a pile at the side of the gatehouse. A trip on foot with a heavier sack became an excellent threatened punishment as well, supplementing latrine duty and armour scouring, though the children, eyeing her warily when she first made it, soon worked out that as extra guards would be needed if they were sent they were safe enough. In any case there was no difficulty seeing her order obeyed, and day by day she had the satisfaction of seeing another defence that did not rely on trained warriors or sheer numbers take menacing shape.

            Master Takemahou also proved himself when a cradle-building party was attacked by a small band of Scanrans, whirling from his work to rip a line of earth up into the faces of the riders, and following with a ball of yellow fire that burned two dismounted men out of existence. She had been standing watch herself, armed with godbow as well as sword and glaive, and another two Scanrans fell to her needlepoints, shots that elicited startled admiration. A fifth died from a slingshot that caught him square in the face, plucking him cleanly off his pony, and the rest retreated at speed back to the woods from which they’d emerged. In the excited cheer following sharp and successful action Kel saw the Yamani thanked and clapped on the back, and liked him all the more for the speed with which shock at such impropriety was hidden by a smile.

            He and Keiichi stayed a week, the last two days an indulgence of Yuki more than anything though the effects of the Green Lady’s blessing on Yamani dishes had something to do with it. But the Emperor was waiting, so despite driving rain she, Neal, and Yuki found themselves waving fond farewell one dawn. Keiichi had promised to investigate the possibility of shipping glaives from the Imperial Armoury, adding when Kel demurred at the cost that he thought the Emperor would be happy to make an outright gift to the citadel of Sakuyo’s Blessed. Alarmed at such threatened generosity Kel had written a long letter Keiichi was carrying to her parents, and as the Ownsmen were lost to sight in the rain she dragged Yuki off for glaive practice in an unused barracks she’d had cleared as a practice court. For an hour they did pattern dances, recalling with rueful humour routines old Naruko had taught them, but Yuki declined to spar and blushed when Kel raised an eyebrow.

            “I know I need the practice, Kel, but it has to wait. Until summer in fact.” She looked down, then added in a rush, “I’ve missed my courses. It’s a week now, and I’m usually so regular.”

            It took Kel a second to process before her heart soared. “You’re pregnant? Yuki, that’s wonderful.” She grasped her friend’s shoulders and hugged her. “I’m so happy for you. Neal must be over the moon. I can’t believe he’s kept it quiet.”

            “He doesn’t know yet.”

            “Why ever not?” Yuki looked down, something Kel couldn’t identify in her eyes. “Yuki, what is it?”

            “You’re not upset, Kel?”

            “Of course not. Why should I …” Her voice trailed away as she realised why Yuki might think she would be. She hadn’t realised her friend was late, although their cycles were similar and they recognised one another’s bad days, partly because she’d been so distant, but also because she’d had no courses since the attack, though not, she knew bitterly, for the same reason. A little calculation told her the child had been conceived close to the time she’d been attacked but she couldn’t not be glad for her friends, and if they’d celebrated their wholeness in that way it was no-one’s business but their own. “No, Yuki, not in the least. I’m delighted for you both.”

            Her friend looked miserable and anxious, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Kel. I feel terrible. We had that conversation about Irnai and having children, and I just waved you goodbye … and when you came back you looked so awful and Neal was so upset and we … I didn’t have my charm on and we’d been going to wait for children until after the war …”

            “Hush, Yuki. It’s alright.” Kel folded her friend in another hug, cursing her woundedness for becoming such a burden on another. She might remain ignorant herself but she’d spent enough time with the Own to know men didn’t seek female company after surviving combat merely as a pleasure, and Neal had had to deal with a lot while she had sat absorbed in Peachblossom’s injury.

            “How can you not mind, Kel? It’s so unfair, and we … we …”

            “Hush, now.” Kel held Yuki while she cried but her own eyes were dry, her feelings more a growing anger without focus than sorrow. “I mind what happened to me, Yuki, but how can I mind the joy of my best and oldest friends? It’d be fair foolish, as Daine would say, eh? Here, dry those tears—you’re getting all blotchy.”

            She produced a spare handkerchief, thinking of the way Owen and the men of Dom’s squad had taken to calling her ‘Mother’; the irony wasn’t lost on her but getting Yuki presentable again and back to Neal was more important. She left them with Neal unsure if he wanted to hug Yuki three more times or just dance around, and already jabbering about many beneficial varieties of tea he would begin to brew at once. Shuddering, not altogether in mockery, Kel left them to their joy with a heart lighter for it but that night her sleep returned her once again to the hillside and Gainel—or her own searing fright and rage—did not wake her until the tauros’s flat teeth were closing on her breast. Jerking upright as its bull features dissolved into the darkness of her room she found her hand clamped on the blunt grey dome through her soaking nightshirt. At least godflesh or whatever it was didn’t bruise. The thought was black, and if the half-humour of it was oddly comforting it was a long, cold hour before she slept again.

 

* * * * *

 

There was still no sign of snow but a gale and a succession of blustery days driving drenching squalls accompanied sharp frosts. The last leaves fell from oaks and alders, and evergreens that thickened in the northern valley stood out, welcome patches of colour among bare wet branches. When the wind did drop at night fog pooled on the valley bottom, and Kel brought a reluctant Peachblossom back to the main stables.

            The prevailing winds in the valley, as across northern Tortall, were from west and north, and while the latter could blow wickedly up valley Kel had thought the fin would provide shelter from westerlies. It did cast a substantial rain-shadow but when the winds picked up strong eddies could whip across the green in any direction, dumping sodden leaves or clearing them. Lying awake during the gale, her shutters rattling, Kel could hear a threnody of thuttering moans and shriller notes as the wind explored stonework and gaps between buildings.

            With the break in the weather routine shifted. Fieldwork was reduced to bare maintenance, clearing windblown trash from winter crops and deepening the sough from the moat to the Greenwoods to prevent flooding as flow from the spring rose. Instead people set to work on giving more buildings piped water and remedying deficiencies driving rain exposed—adjusting gutters, improving drainage of kitchen garden and treeplots, and installing extra bolts to still rattling shutters. One window in the barracks Fanche slept in proved a magnet for drafts even heavy sacking could not deter, and in an inspired moment of rage one night she seized a length of old spidren webbing children had been using as a jump-rope and packed it into the most troublesome gap. It was still there in the morning and Fanche quietly found other pieces to pack all four sides of the window as well as the seam of the shutters—and thereafter wind stayed out. Available webbing was soon exhausted but Quenuresh, no more concerned with old webbing than griffins with moulted feathers, was happy to exchange large bundles for an additional round of cheese and the whole of New Hope was shortly much snugger. Brodhelm and one or two sergeants did shake heads at the peculiar appearance it gave barracks and headquarters, but weren’t about to refuse such an unexpected boon.

            Daily life on the main level became busier, many refugees working in barracks to make and mend, and when some stray bales of spun thread turned up with a convoy of supply wagons two looms were set up. Kel thought hard about a request to use the as yet unfilled barracks, but she’d reminded Vanget in her last report of his promise about a second regular company, and though he’d grumbled they’d soon be on their way. Instead she made a decision she’d been pondering and had the looms put in the cave system, directing everyone’s attention to the sheltered spaces that as yet only miners and children used regularly.

            The first major chamber had proven too damp for food storage, now organised in offshoot chambers and passages, but one of the larger volumes on the way from that chamber to the high-ceilinged one where basilisks, ogres, and miners continued to extend the spiral passageway proved ideal—level, dry, large enough to work in with ease and for people to gather but not so large basilisk-heated blocks didn’t warm it to snugness. Sacking curtains, whitewash on walls and floor, and some benches and chairs soon made it a place people sought out, and the axis of life shifted towards the interior spaces. The first chamber became a place to strip off wet or bulky outer clothing, its level side away from the pool a place for children to run and play when rain and cold made the green a misery. Kel had a chest-high fence built around the pool to prevent accidents, and one of the Hannaford stonemasons began carving the stalagmites into latticed lampholders. The slowly expanding line of lights warned of the pool and were reflected in its surface, while the delicacy of the work, admired by all, exerted a subtle pressure to keep children away when they were rushing about the drier side of the cave.

            The resident immortals were also pleased. They had long since made themselves living spaces in corners and adapted small offshoot caves to suit them, deep in the first chamber on the side towards the fin, and that area became known as Immortals’ Row, where others didn’t go without asking. But it had been a distinct existence from that of the barracks, and the increase in activity all around and cautious rise in the number and frequency of visitors began to map developing friendships and led to story-telling sessions that became a popular evening activity. Beings with centuries of experience had a lot of stories to tell, some hilarious, some entirely baffling; there were also shared experiences of displacement and building New Hope, and conversation discovered interests in common. The children found lessons altered to include basilisk lectures about kinds of rock and what sort of crevices weren’t safe to explore, and ogre observations (supplemented by miners) about how to excavate, shore, and brace.

            Kel was able to spend time with Tobe and Peachblossom, teaching her son pattern dances and comforting the fretful gelding. His leg was easier but the muscle might never be wholly restored—probably a good thing, given the weak, patched-up bones but a loss and indignity he resented. After grooming him and Hoshi extensively one evening she was putting Tobe to bed when he named the problem.

            “He’s _bored_ , Ma, more than anything, and not just because he’s stuck in the stable so much. He’s the brightest horse I’ve ever known except Master Numair’s Spots and the Wildmage’s Cloud. They’d keep him happy because they’d be company. Hoshi’s very clever—she always knows what’s needed—but Peachblossom’s clever like a person.”

            Kel didn’t have to think twice to know he was right. Peachblossom had known Daine longer than Hoshi, and spent far more time at the Palace in her proximity as well as receiving doses of her magic when Kel had first acquired him, to teach him spoken commands and obviate the need for spurring. And while he’d seen little of her in the north before his injury, and Kel didn’t think the healing would have smartened him any more, he’d spent a great deal of the last seven months with Tobe, whose horse-magic wasn’t remotely in Daine’s league but would have kept the gelding on his toes and allowed conversation. Her mind raced and after a moment she hauled a surprised Tobe out of bed, wrapped him in a blanket, and carried him back to the stables.

            One very odd conversation via Tobe’s empathy later a deal was struck, and Peachblossom’s stall door pinned open. A flat wooden block on the sliding latch of the stable doors put it within his capacity and Kel gave him the run of the main level, shelf, and terrace while he agreed to walk only, not to bite unless very provoked, and to stale only in straw laid down by the livestock pens. When Neal discovered next day that his equine nemesis was free to wander at will he was so appalled he could barely speak—but that was succeeded by an impassioned recitation of near-fatal injuries he had suffered at the hands—hooves— _teeth_ —of the most savage piece of horseflesh between Vassa and Olorun, the further south being excluded only because he hadn’t seen enough of their horses to know if some unimaginably ghastly southern brute might be worse. Knowing Neal had some justification and seeing his performance entrancing Tobe and a growing number of children and adults, Kel left him to it. The big gelding soon became a familiar sight on the main level, accompanied by Jump or the sparrows. His pleasure in exercise and variety was a relief to Kel and he began to make himself useful, making night rounds of the shelf, keeping sentries silent company from below and clopping a hoof warningly or sending Jump to growl at closer quarters if he found them less attentive to duty than he thought proper. Besides amusing him this gave him a renewed sense of purpose, annealing lingering guilt at failing Kel in battle, and the improvement in his deeper spirit was a balm to her own.

            She was also pleased, though with more mixed feelings, to learn from a despatch carried by couriers via Steadfast that an attack by wolfships on Mindelan had been more-or-less foiled. Three had come charging in one grey dawn but the naval ships had not been caught napping, and while both had taken casualties and damage, the wolfships had fared far worse, two sunk and one limping away with fewer oarsmen than it needed and boldly carved prow blasted away by a royal warmage. Whether the attack had been planned as retribution for Kel’s killing of Blayce and Stenmun no-one was sure—there had been sporadic attacks along the coast throughout late summer and autumn—but her mulling was interrupted by a white-faced Neal, who’d received letters in the same batch. He dropped into the chair in front of her desk, meeting her eyes.

            “Dom’s been hurt. A Scanran axeman he thought he’d killed and stepped over got his leg and he’s lost what father calls a lot of muscle.”

            Kel’s heart had stopped as Neal spoke, or so it seemed, but the fresh sorrow was still behind the glass in her mind. She found herself aware Neal had never known of her feelings, any more than Dom, and the genuine shock and worry she was showing seemed an act that hid her true yet muted distress. Self-dislike burned her.

            “Oh Mithros. Poor Dom. How bad is it, Neal?”

            “It could have been fatal but they got him to the healers in time to save life and leg. But he’s like Peachblossom, Kel. He won’t fight again.”

            “He’s leaving the Own?”

            “He has to, Kel. Gods.”

            “What will he do? Do you know?”

            “I don’t think anyone does, but he’s going back to Masbolle.” Neal rubbed wet eyes. “Curse it. He loved the Own and never wanted to work at the fief. Now he’ll have to, I suppose.”

            “His leg won’t recover? Muscle regrows, surely?

            “Not when you’re missing a great collop of it. I’ve seen axe-wounds like that. They always leave weakness. Hurt like anything, too, until the skin regrows, and even then. Gods.”

            The news brought commiserations from many, remembering Dom’s vital part in their rescue and that it was his squad who’d made Kel’s Haven command flag, still in use at New Hope.  After consultation a letter of condolence and warm wishes for recovery was written by Idrius Valestone in his best hand and signed on a succession of sheets by all surviving Havenites, adults and children alike. To Kel’s quiet satisfaction all could now write their names, and the parents their children’s, so even toddlers found their fingers inked and touched to paper. _Baby Haven, her mark._ Adding her own note of commiseration in friendship, with an invitation to visit as soon as he could and small gifts—a book from Neal, a pot of sweet pickle Yuki made, and some sketches of New Hope by a Goatstrack woman with a fair hand—Kel sent the letter to Mastiff for forwarding to Masbolle.

            How Kel actually felt was a mystery to her. In one way she didn’t think her feelings had changed—were she to dream of any man, or in waking life imagine what it would be to be held and touched by one, it would be Dom; but she hadn’t done either since the attack, and didn’t suppose she would again. If any sexuality had been left her after losing the physical capacity it was behind glass with her pain and rage. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure she missed desire, distracting and embarrassing as it had often seemed, but when she pissed or bathed and felt numb godflesh where once there had been rich sensation she knew Neal had been right. She and Peachblossom had been crippled together.

            Any temptation to brood was displaced by a new mystery, or the solution to an older one. One frosty dawn, after a night during which the guards reported odd noises, Kel looked disbelievingly down the roadway through her spyglass and with half-a-dozen men trotted down to a bumpy white mound beyond the moatbridge. Arriving she found she hadn’t been mistaken: piled neatly were seven tauros skulls looking as if they’d been boiled. Horns grew from bone plugs and were still attached, as were flat teeth; empty eye sockets stared in all directions.

            Wary of traps Kel summoned Forist and Anner as well as Neal and Seaver to probe magically for spells or cruder dangers, but none could sense anything but bone, horn, and ivory. Eventually a baffled Kel had the pile carefully picked apart, and the skulls put into the little space between gatehouse and fin, with the ready bags of rocks for cradles. Were the skulls a cruel stormwing joke or an incomprehensible compliment? Neal dryly suggested it might be stormwing art, until Seaver contended that in that case it should be a known behaviour, which it certainly wasn’t; how often did the steel-winged immortals play with other immortals’ corpses? No-one could remember an instance of defiled spidren, hurrok, or giant corpses, but most were burned by whoever killed them. Even immortals weren’t sure what to make of it, Var’istaan and Kuriaju denying knowledge of the stormwing eyries near the Dragonlands, never having been to that part of the Divine Realms. Recalling Daine’s stories about a stormwing who’d died in the Immortals War, Kel resolved to ask Quenuresh at their next meeting.

            The spidren also professed herself baffled, but speculated that the tauroses having been chaos-touched might be relevant—a notion that had occurred to Kel but she couldn’t say aloud at New Hope. After sniffing closely, turning skulls in her foremost legs to peer into cavities, Quenuresh did have a firm suggestion as to what Kel should do.

            “For whatever reason, Keladry, they are given as a gift, and it would be wise to honour it. They can serve a practical use that may prove more. If you can bear it—and you should—set them along the roadway, at the top, where they may glare warning to respect New Hope, as the Scanran battle standards on your outer walls do.”

            Kel suspected Quenuresh was holding something back but she said only that such skull warnings were an ancient practice, and at any great crossroads in time such as they were living through echoes of history were not to be scorned. Kel was reluctant, viscerally so, not wanting to be reminded daily—with their broad bony foreheads, flat noses, teeth, and horns the skulls were not much different except in colour from the living tauros she still met most nights. But she had come to think Quenuresh wise as well as kind, so despite her distaste she spent a long hour sitting and looking at them, morbidly wondering which one had raped and killed her and which horn had gored whom.  Finding a decision no closer she found Jarna, embroidering in the warm loom-cave, and taking her aside quietly asked what she thought. To her surprise, after a trembling moment the fierce answer supported Quenuresh: let the murdering beasts’ bones be set there, seen to be punished as fully as any living thing could be. Though taken aback Kel thought ignoring mortal rage and immortal advice was not sensible for any commander; so the masons set to work, and soon seven skulls stared menacingly down at the roadway immediately below the turn.

            When Uinse’s men on gate duty promptly named them, in descending order, Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, and did neither. Her defensively dry observation that Pizzle seemed odd man out got a shocked laugh from the men, as if she shouldn’t be able to say the word, and she retreated wondering how on earth she’d explain it to Wyldon when he next visited and how soon the tale would reach him. She’d have to put it in her next report; and a moment later realised her report was due, for next day was last of the month. Cursing she set about the inventory.


	8. Devotions

**Chapter Eight — Devotions**

_November_

 

Yuki’s pregnancy changed the travel plans. She began to experience morning sickness, and though one of Neal’s inevitable teas helped alleviate it he became concerned about the ride to Corus and changes in diet it would involve. Her protests that she would be fine were not, Kel thought, as forceful as they might have been, and diminished as the weather continued wet. Neal was torn between wanting his multiplying Yamani rose secure in Corus and not wanting her to risk the journey, contemplating with equal discontent leaving her alone at New Hope in winter or behind in Corus when he had to return north. Despite the loss of personal support Kel offered him leave to remain in Corus until June—but Yuki was having none of that and suggested she and Neal should both remain at New Hope. He was willing but would have to seek the King’s leave to ignore the summons Kel and all the knights had received, which she didn’t think would be forthcoming—but was wrong. Relaying His Majesty’s approval and congratulations Wyldon smiled at her.

            “It’s _you_ he and the Council want to see, Keladry.” Kel scowled and Wyldon waved a hand. “The others were included in a fit of Palace thoroughness, but while I’m sure they’d have interesting accounts to give they can only supplement yours, especially where the gods are concerned. Queenscove’s request is reasonable and no-one wants to drag a healer away from his wife’s first pregnancy.”

            “Mmm. I’m concerned about their being snowed in here, though.”

            Wyldon shrugged. “Lady Yukimi couldn’t have a better healer on hand in Corus except Duke Baird, and he’ll be back here in spring. Northern cold aside, I don’t see she’s any worse off. In any case the King says they can stay if they want. And I don’t suppose you mind your people having a first-rate healer during the winter.”

            That was true, especially as there were pregnancies more advanced than Yuki’s. New Hope should add several souls before she could hope to be back, and while there was a hedgewitch among the refugees, healer Morri didn’t have much experience of delivery—an issue that bothered Kel though she hadn’t wanted to broach the topic of childbed mishap in Yuki’s presence.

            “Alright, I’ll tell them. Is there anything else?”

            “A couple of things.” He flipped papers, extracting some. “Your last report was another of what Vanget has taken to calling your ‘eyebrow-lifters’—not unreasonably.” His mouth quirked but his eyes were dark. “Did you have to include the nicknames the soldiers gave those skulls? Vanget’s laughter was immoderate but he’s as puzzled as we all are. There’s no doubt it _was_ stormwings?”

            “It wasn’t anyone here, Wyldon. Those skulls were boiled clean and no-one here did that, or placed them where we found them.”

            “Fair enough. I suppose it’s just that a soldiers’ joke would be easier than this … mystery.” He rubbed his brow. “You said a stormwing apologised to you about their desecration of Haven. Have you tried asking one what in the mortal realms they think they’re doing?”

            “There’ve been none to be seen so I’ve not had the chance, but if I get it I surely will. I wanted to ask Daine as well—she’s the only person I know who’s ever said she had a stormwing friend.”

            “Oh, during the Immortals War. I do remember her distress when she returned from Port Legann.”

            “Rikash Moonsword.”

            “That’s the one. An odd name for such a creature.”

            “An odd stormwing, I think. Daine said she once dined with him at her parents’ house in the Divine Realms, on the same occasion that Numair met Lord Gainel, as well as the Badger and an animal god I didn’t understand at all, a … duckmole, she said, called Broadfoot.”

            Wyldon sighed. “I saw him very briefly during the Immortals War when that enormous dragon brought her and Numair to Corus—some sort of beaver, so far as I could tell. With a beak. The dragon wanted to talk to him and Daine said he’d been stopping Malady from attacking us. I never did understand what she meant.”

            Kel didn’t understand either. “Sounds like a good thing.”

            “Indeed. I’ll ask about the skulls when I can—she was here last week and may be again next. She flew over Rathhausak ten days ago, by the way, and said nothing had been done to fix the castle. It’s a shell.”

            “Huh. No-one to care, I suppose. The Scanran refugees say Maggur hadn’t visited since he installed Blayce, five years back, and the village is deserted.” She shrugged again, thinking how rotten a man and ruler the Scanran was, whatever his strengths; she might have reservations about King Jonathan but there was no comparison. “His business. Do you want me to remove the skulls? I’m not sure I like them but my people do.”

            “No, no. Gods know I’d understand if you’d just destroyed them but they _were_ given to you, whatever the reason, and Quenuresh is correct it’s an ancient practice to display defeated enemies in that way. Haztor of Pearlmouth records it.”

            Kel considered. “I think Quenuresh meant ancient in _her_ terms, Wyldon. I once heard her say something had happened ‘only thrice since the Godwars’ and Neal says no-one has the slightest idea when those were except that it was at least ten thousand years ago.”

            “Mithros!” Curiosity overcame him for once. “What had happened only three times in all that span?”

            “Oh … what the Black God did.” Conscience squirmed. “Something he said, actually.” Wyldon raised his eyebrows. “I saw his face.”

            His eyebrows snapped down. “You didn’t say that before.”

            “No, it’s … very personal.” She took refuge. “I’ll be talking to Lady Alanna about it. I’m sorry not to say, but …”

            “No, no. Gods _are_ personal, I understand that, especially a meeting with _that_ one.” Obviously concerned he didn’t probe. ”On another matter, then, how’s that horse of yours?”

            That news she hadn’t included in her report and explained how Peachblossom fared, adding with a straight face that he’d taken to inspecting the nightwatch and garnering a laugh that pleased her.

            “That sounds splendid. The sentries must be quaking.”

            “More or less. But they say he keeps them company, as Jump and other dogs do.” She smiled wistfully. “He checks in at the gatehouse regularly. That they keep apples there has nothing to do with it.”

            “Naturally. Still, I’d like to see him doing rounds.” Wyldon seemed to reach a decision. “I shan’t be able to do so for a while—I doubt I’ll get over to you again before the snows—but Owen’ll be along next week.”

            “Really? It’ll be nice to see him, but what warrants a trip?”

            “He’s fretting about his Ordeal and a trip in charge of some escort squads and a mailbag will occupy him nicely. By the time he’s gets back we’ll need to be leaving for Corus. And that reminds me—I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d be willing to instruct him with me.”

            She managed not to exclaim. “Of course, Wyldon. I’m honoured you’d ask me.” She’d forgotten Owen was due to undergo his Ordeal of Knighthood this Midwinter; it seemed odd that it was less than a year since her own, odder still that she’d be instructing another, but the gift of the offer was intensely pleasing.

            “Excellent. I couldn’t find a better knight for the job and Owen will agree.” He smiled warmly. “He _is_ in a bit of a fidget about it all, though. Understandably, but he does have such a lot of energy to fidget with. The trip’s as much to save me strangling him as to give him something to do, even if only guarding a mailbag.”

            She thought of an antsy Owen and grinned. “He’ll be fine. Anything in that mailbag to concern me?”

            “Not that I know of.” There was a blandness in his voice Kel mistrusted and he raised hands at her look. “Truly, Keladry. The escort is because there’ll be a commander’s purse—I realised you’ve never been issued one and you should have something on hand, if only for occasional food purchases when opportunity knocks.”

            “Oh.” She frowned. “Not many of those except from the Vassa fishermen, sometimes, and they’re happy to barter.”

            “Even so. I bet you’re personally out-of-pocket by now,”

            “Well …” She _had_ paid for fish, and furs to persuade woodmen who survived in the hills between New Hope and Tirrsmont to report Scanran movements and send warning even if meant abandoning traplines.

            “Exactly. I shall expect your first indent to be for reimbursement.”

            “It doesn’t matter, Wyldon, Lalasa insists on tithing to me from her dress-shop so I’ve more money than I can use already. And I won quite a bit jousting during the Progress.”

            “You hang on to it.” The blandness intensified. “Army regulations say a commander should have an official fund, and so you shall.”

            With that she had to be content, waiting for Owen with niggling curiosity. He was preceded by other messengers—a squad accompanying Duke Baird in surprising person, on his way to Corus, and two days later one carrying an urgent letter for Seaver. Baird had been strictly charged by his wife—or rather, an expectant grandmother suffering acute yips—with thrilled approbation and a long, long list of advice for Yuki, most of which Baird sensibly ignored. He was concerned to see her, and did, with delighted pleasure of his own as an expectant grandfather; watching him beaming Kel realised he and the Duchess must have waited for this moment for a long time, since the deaths without issue of their elder sons during the Immortals War. Baird was also deeply curious about New Hope and gratifyingly staggered by its reality, expressing unqualified admiration as Kel gave her ever-expanding tour and lingering a day longer than intended to meet Quenuresh, with a set face but impeccable courtesy. The delay meant he was still there when the letter for Seaver arrived, telling him in his mother’s trembling hand that his eldest brother, Lord of Tasride since the untimely death of his father, had died of a cruel fever that carried off a score of people in the fief. As the youngest of three sons Seaver did not stand to inherit and his brother had left a young heir, but his presence was urgently requested and after granting immediate leave Kel waved him sadly off within the hour, Baird and his escort in hasty tow.

            For the next few days Kel couldn’t help remembering being told years before, in the Islands, of the letter informing her parents that Anders had been crippled—just like poor Dom and Peachblossom. She had never, thank Mithros, had notification of a death herself and prayed it would stay that way for a long time. It had been a worry whenever her parents had gone to Yaman, with all the hazards of shipwreck and piracy on the Emerald Sea, and when she’d known Inness was in action on this border, but the tiring business of daily life as page and squire had kept it largely out of her mind. A commander’s work could do that too, she found, though with winter routines keeping fieldwork to a minimum and reducing patrols in number and range the demands of action and paperwork were slackening, so she threw herself into weapons training with gusto. Jump and the sparrows had a backlog of neglect made up, and when it turned out that neither all the Scanrans nor the newer convict soldiers were adequately familiar with the various signals used by sparrows, dogs, and the marmalade cat who lived with Fanche and Saefas she spent several mornings rectifying the deficiency.

            The arrival of Northwatch Company Fourteen under Mikal of Holtwood was thus doubly welcome, and she watched them marching crisply up valley one happily dry morning with satisfaction. They brought a wagon-train of personal gear and additional food, on which the cooks fell with interest while—after a long, interesting process of naming and declaring under the lintel—an empty barracks filled with men unpacking and stashing spare uniforms and what few personal items each had. Mikal she’d never met but Brodhelm spoke well of him and he seemed competent and pleasant—a swarthy man with a welcome glint of humour and a no-nonsense manner. With many interested onlookers she formed the arrivals up on the green with offduty squads from Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s companies, introduced herself, her knights, captains, civilian leaders, and resident immortals, explained about Quenuresh and the griffins, went carefully through standing orders with flat-voiced emphases, and paired every new man with one of Brodhelm’s or Uinse’s. The sponsors had the duty of showing their charges around and making introductions, and the charges the responsibility of shadowing their sponsors on duty for a week to learn the ropes.

            “You’ll find it different here,” she concluded, generating wry nods from men already bug-eyed at what they’d seen and stealing glances at basilisks and ogres. “But in a good way, I promise. And don’t think it’s any kind of rest camp. You’ll see action here. King Maggot’s been a bit distracted this summer, and the central front’s been quiet for the most part—but we’ve faced several attacks in the last two months and taken casualties, military and civilian. And snow’s not fallen yet so _always_ keep alert. We have regular training sessions for everyone, as you’ve probably heard, and as well as the usual staff, sword-, spear-, and bow-work there’ll be tools and weapons you may not be familiar with—griffin-bands that mean you can’t be fooled by illusions, slings, and ways of using spears as slicing weapons, not just to stab. We’ve plenty of horses so we do lancework as well, for everyone who can ride well enough, not just knights—they’re the weapon of choice against giants and tauroses. And as you saw we’ve had dealings with those. What the lads call our trophies I’ll leave them to tell. Now, to your tours.”

            Keeping her voice cheerful had been an effort but she thought she’d managed, and knew she’d done better than in her last address to assembled soldiers however her mind still keened behind its glass. She directed squads to start in different places and rotate in different directions, so they were spread out, and after watching the efficient bustle for a moment retired to headquarters with Mikal, Brodhelm, Uinse, and Merric to begin proper integration of Company Fourteen into the duty schedule, other rosters, and contingency plans for attacks of all kinds. With three full companies, two regular, all sorts of things could be done properly or augmented, from archers firing by turns on the alures to more thorough patrolling, each with a host of details and consequences. Mikal was surprised by the range of what New Hope did as routine, and pleased with the friendly atmosphere. He was junior to Brodhelm but senior to Uinse and Merric, and would be third-in-command—Brodhelm’s second in her absence—so she in turn was pleased by his professionalism and flexibility.

            They were still at it next afternoon when Owen’s arrival with two escort squads was reported, and she left them to wrangle about how best to organise practices. Owen had made it as far as the shelf when she rounded the stables to see that he was riding a warhorse Wyldon must have given him to replace Happy, a big bay gelding similar to his lamented predecessor, and leading an even larger liver chestnut.

            “Kel! How splendid to see you!” He dismounted and threw his arms around her in a crushing brotherly hug as she reached him.

            “Oof. Put me down, Owen! That’s better.”

            “Sorry, Kel, discipline and all that, I know, but it _is_ good to see you. And you’ve everything running sharp as a pin to judge from the guards. I like your tauros heads too—they’re _very_ jolly.” His face suddenly fell. “But it was horrid what happened. Are you alright?”

            Time as Wyldon’s squire at Mastiff had taught Owen skill in eavesdropping and even some tact, but his artless friendship was all his own. One of her bets with herself when she’d learned he was coming was that Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle would each be jollier than the last. Affectionately she clapped his shoulder.

            “I’m fine, Owen. You’ve a new horse, I see. He’s a beauty.”

            “Isn’t he just?” Owen beamed. “He’s really called Windstrider because his dam and sire were the same as Happy’s who was really Windtreader but I call him Happy Two because he is! And the liver chestnut’s for you, if you’d like him, with my Lord’s compliments.”

            Kel was trying to parse Owen’s second sentence when the third caught up with her. “ _What_ did you say, Owen?”

            “Which what? He’s Happy Two because he’s so like Happy One and he’s happy too. It’s a pun.”

            Kel took a deep breath. “I guessed that, Owen, and I’m happy for you and Happy Two, too.” He grinned. “You said something after that.”

            “The chestnut’s for you. My Lord didn’t want you without a proper warhorse. Hoshi’s splendid but you need a gelding, so he’s giving you this one. He does have a name I can tell you if you want but my Lord said you should feel free to name him yourself so I wasn’t to use it.”

            Shock sank into her. “Wyldon’s _giving_ him to me?”

            “Yes. He wants to and you need a horse. Poor old Peachblossom. I _was_ sorry to hear about him, but his doing night rounds sounds fun. What’s the problem, Kel?”

            “I can’t accept a horse like that. He must be worth a fortune.”

            “Why not? He’s a good ’un, Kel, and right for you. My Lord’s got a wonderful eye for matching horse and rider.”

            “Owen, it’s not right. I ca—”

            “Oh bosh. Of course it’s right, Kel.” His grey eyes were suddenly shrewd. “It’s what my Lord has that he _can_ give, and it’s what friends do when they’re worried, and they can. You can’t tell me you’re not friends. He calls you Keladry in private now, not the Lady Knight, and you just called him by name alone. I like to think he and I are quite close but if I did that he’d freeze me to death in a heartbeat and quite right too.”

            “But it’s …” What was it, exactly? Food for slanderers like Tirrsmont? Probably, but she wouldn’t let that stop her in any other way. A generosity trying to compensate her for what had happened? Perhaps, and she half-understood it might be more complicated; that her rape while under his command, however distantly, might be more difficult for him to deal with than her death in battle would have been. And it wasn’t just embarrassment at a gift beyond her means—she’d accepted gifts as costly from Lady Alanna without knowing who they were from; but this was from _Wyldon_ who … she faced it: who had in a strange way become a second father to her as well as a friend, whose praise meant more to her even than Raoul’s and not because it was harder to earn. Impatient with the delay the liver chestnut poked his muzzle over Owen’s shoulder and she was lost, but there was another thing she must do.

            As Owen stepped aside, smiling, she considered the gelding gravely and stepped forward to let him snuffle at her, then blew gently into his nostrils. He had an irregular blaze and faint list and she wanted to inspect every marvellous inch of him but instead took his reins, told Owen to put the mailsack in her office and settle himself in a guest room, and led him down to the main level, whistling to call Peachblossom, loitering with intent by the infirmary. Exchanging a stare with the newcomer, eyes flicking to her, he walked slowly by the paths to the green, along its west side, and stopped a few feet away.

            She kept her voice as crisp as she could. “Peachblossom, this fellow’s been given to me. Will you two get along?”

            The horses looked at one another and she found Tobe by her side.

            “Is he yours, Ma? For what Peachblossom can’t do any more?”

            “If it works out.”

            Tobe studied the horse with interest. “It will. What’s his name?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Let’s find out.” Tobe stepped forward to greet the newcomer, resting a hand on his muzzle for a moment afterwards. “I’m not sure he knows it himself. He’d like a name, though.”

            “What do you think, Tobe?”

            “I dunno.” He turned to Peachblossom, reaching hands to his neck looking closely at him for a long minute, then back at her. “Peachblossom says he’s called Alder, and thinks he’ll be alright with training. He says Alder has a good heart and is strong enough for you.”

            Kel was having a difficult time with emotions rising as they hadn’t for a long time, and gave Peachblossom a hard hug, trying to control herself, before fishing apples from her pocket for both horses and showing Alder to a stall by Peachblossom’s and Hoshi’s. The placid mare seemed happy to greet a new friend, snuffling softly, and with Tobe’s help Kel set about grooming Alder thoroughly. Peachblossom stayed, inspecting the liver chestnut himself, and after a while Tobe looked down at her as she ran hands over Alder’s fetlocks and cannons.

            “Peachblossom says he’s smart but hasn’t had any of Daine’s magic. He thinks he can teach Alder your basic commands but you should ask Daine to make him smarter. Then he could teach Alder what you need in battle and how you like things done.”

            Kel’s emotions were bubbling again, but she nodded before looking her gratitude at Peachblossom.

            “It’s alright, Ma.” Tobe’s voice was soft. “He knows you need another horse. He’s glad you’ve got a good one who’ll keep you safe.”

            It was too much and tears filled her eyes but she dared not let them flow; once started she’d never stop. But she did stand to hug Peachblossom’s neck again, tightly, letting drops she couldn’t stop trickle into his mane. The arrival of Jump, tail wagging, and the flutter of sparrows alighting on Peachblossom let her extricate herself with some shreds of dignity, and she made new introductions to Alder.

            It was another hour before she dragged herself out of the stables to find Owen and receive the mail, including the promised purse for which she’d had the smiths make a lockbox bolted to the floor in a corner of her office; Tobe's royal purse was already there. Owen was full of chatter about Happy Two and final training he’d been doing but after ten minutes of breathless and confusing grammar fell silent, turned huge eyes on her, and took a deep breath.

            “Kel, I’m terrified of the Ordeal. Suppose it just minces me up? I know I’m not supposed to talk about it but you _talked_ to the Chamber, just like you’d talk to a person. Will I be alright?”

            Wyldon’s reminder of Owen’s Ordeal had left Kel thinking about her need to speak to the elemental—or rather King Jonathan’s desire that she should; left to herself she’d be happy never to talk to it again—but she hadn’t anticipated this, which she might have. And, she realised, Wyldon _had_. It was why he’d sent Owen with his astonishing gift rather than coming himself, and it meant he thought she could offer the boy—no, the man—something he couldn’t. She got up to close the door and waved Owen to one of the chairs, taking another opposite him.

            “Not just like you’d talk to a person, Owen. The Chamber’s not a person and doesn’t think like one. But it’s not evil, just hard as nails and not interested in anything except testing you. You’ll be fine. You’ve a heart the size of a mountain and your wild courage is a byword already.”

            “Really?”

            “Oh yes. My Lord of Cavall’s squire who thinks everything’s jolly.”

            He smiled weakly. “It’s a good word.”

            “And you’re a good man.” She considered. “Have you touched the Chamber door.”

            He looked down. “Once, on a dare. It was awful.”

            “Your worst fears played out and you helpless to do anything?”

            “Yes.” His voice was a whisper. “How did you know?”

            “Because that’s what it did when I touched the door, and one of the things it does most, so far as I can tell. I’ve never been sure why, but I think it’s about willingness to go on fighting, whatever the odds, whatever happens. You may get more of the same. But it does other things too—I can’t discuss it, but things that give you choices, or make you … well, let go of something. I suspect that’s what happened to Joren—he couldn’t bend, or let go of all that hate he had for me and everyone he disapproved of. But you’re good all through, and a first-rate fighter. You’ll be a knight by the New Year.”

            “Thank you, Kel. It means a lot to me that you think so, and that’s very helpful about Joren. I’ve always wondered what really happened to him, why he failed. Died.” He swallowed. “And I _can’t_ ask my Lord about that. Anyway, he’s a stickler for rules, and won’t talk about the Chamber except to say it’s a hammer but fair and wants people to pass if it can.”           

            That was very Wyldon and Kel sighed. “I wonder about that rule, Owen. There’s no rule we can’t talk about what happens when we touch the door, but no-one does. I didn’t, and I bet you didn’t either.”

            “No. I couldn’t.”

            “I know. But that’s shame, isn’t it? At being so helpless. And sick rage at whatever nightmare vision it cooks up.” She made a decision. “I can tell you some of the ones it dumped on me, if you like.”

            He stared at her. “You touched the door more than once?”

            She nodded, smiling wryly. “Every six months or so. Neal thought I was mad too, but I thought everyone did and just didn’t say anything.”

            “Mithros! Will it help me to know, do you think?”

            “I can’t say, Owen. Ordeals are … different, or mine was. These were only visions. When you’re _in_ the Chamber … well, when you’re in it for your Ordeal it’s … more powerful. More real.”

            “I think I’d like to know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I saw my mother getting killed, and my brother, though I wasn’t there when it happened, and I was helpless, as if I was glued to the ground.”

            “Because your dream of being a knight was bound up with wishing you’d been there to save them.”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s exactly what it does to test your dream. I saw friends and family die, and was stuck just like that. And crippled once, from some tilting accident. There was also a really strange one after Joren’s trial.”

            He hadn’t been at the trial though he’d heard about it, of course, and she repeated Joren’s speech of contempt, engraved on her memory, before relaying her vision of the blond squire coldly purchasing or condemning everyone to slaughter. As she spoke the thought that burned in her mind was that one thing the Chamber had never done was to subject her to rape, or even its threat; only to helplessness in the face of others’ deaths, and she wondered if that was because she hadn’t then deeply feared rape or for some reason of its own. Maybe she’d ask, but for now Owen needed her attention.

            “That’s awful, Kel.” He shuddered. “Like a slave market.”

            “Yes. A slave court, I suppose. But at its core it’s the same thing as all the others, Owen—nightmares happening right in front of you that you can’t stop. But you _want_ to stop them, don’t you? Like you want to stop bandits from killing anyone else’s mother ever again?”

            “Gods, yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

            “So let the Chamber know that, and whatever nightmare fight it shows you don’t ever give up, not for a second. If it’s not a fight, you’ll have to think about what’s right to do in whatever situation it is. But trust your heart and instincts and you’ll be fine with that, just as you will with the fights.”

            He nodded, colour returning. “Thanks Kel. That helps a lot. I’d got so I couldn’t think about it clearly at all—there was just this dread and a great blank wall I couldn’t see through or over or anything.”           

            “I know, Owen. It’s what you’ve worked towards for eight years and it’s like walking towards a mountain. It just gets bigger and bigger. But it’s still the mountain you could see whole when you started towards it, and it has a summit you can reach if you keep going.”

            “I can do that.”

            “Yes, you can. Now come meet Mikal of Holtwood. His Northwatch Company Fourteen marched in yesterday and I abandoned him to Brodhelm and Merric too long ago. Let’s find out how far they’ve got.”

 

* * * * *

 

Alder proved a pleasure to ride and more than a practical restoration. Kel loved Hoshi for herself and as Raoul’s gift, and the mare had been a comfort, strong and uncomplaining even in the vilest weather; but she was smaller than Peachblossom and without the gelding’s bracing attitude and ferocity in battle. Alder didn’t quite have the attitude—he’d never suffered as Peachblossom had before he met her—but he had the warhorse mind and, whatever Wyldon had taught him as a foal or Peachblossom was telling him now, seemed to understand basic spoken commands; she soon discarded the blunt spurs she’d reluctantly attached to her boots and relied on voice alone.

            On a bright, clear day, gold among the lead of winter’s early coinage, she commandeered a work party with two squads of archers for security and set up a quintain in the field below the western glacis. Alder snorted eagerly when he saw it, and after three hours of steady, careful, and exhilarating work with the target-dummy, then oak and willow rings, she knew she could confidently meet _anyone_ in the jousting-lanes on his back, as she had on Peachblossom’s. He was strong, steady, and responsive, his canter even and gallop rhythmic in the way she loved that enabled her to be absolutely sure how her lance tip would move. On her last run, when the wind dropped for a moment, she managed to pin the willow-ring at a full gallop and whooped triumph as she pulled up and used that hard wrist flick to send it spinning for Jump to catch as it skimmed over him. Watching men cheered, and in the evening, after her staffwork was seen to be equally good in disarming Company Fourteen’s champion, she noticed a new snap in the way Mikal’s men regarded her. They’d seemed to like her well enough and plainly respected the way she ran a tight command with—for the most part—a light hand; now they knew for themselves she was a fighter to fear, for all her unusual ways and the strange place she commanded.

            That night she gasped upright from the hillside after the worst episode in more than a week, hand again clutching fiercely at her numb breast. Shaken and nauseated, she found herself furious—with herself, her ghastly memories, tauroses, the _godshat_ mage who’d been willing to cloak and steer and _watch_ them as they did what tauroses did; with—she knew it—the gods who hadn’t let her die when she should, nor be annealed of her pain in the Peaceful Realms, but had patched her up like stuffing mortar into crumbled brick and sent her straight back to do something they wouldn’t or couldn’t explain. And who hadn’t sent anyone else the tauroses had slain back with her—a guilt rankling like a saddle-burr, though she shuddered to imagine what it would have been like if the women who’d died had been mended as she had, or husbands and guards returned with great grey swathes of chest and stomach.

            Dressing warmly she went to the shrines, wandering up and down before them trying to sort her thoughts. The unfeeling flesh she’d been given might have saved her life but seemed a trick, and she didn’t think it was Lord Sakuyo’s style, nor remotely Lord Mithros’s; her gaze rested most often on the Black God’s hooded statue, thinking of the illimitable sadness in the young face she’d seen, his special mercy, the cackle in his Hag daughter’s voice. Why did the god of death have a daughter anyway, let alone one to all appearances far older than he and as ugly as he was beautiful? It made no sense—but what god did? She tried to bear down on anger and frame a prayer to the Hag, thinking her father’s shrine might be a portal to reach her, but the spikes of rage were too great. _I see your clumsy hopes and well-meaning unattractiveness and grant you humiliating perdition._ Did she _have_ to carry stigmata of her failure to protect those poor Tirrsmonters? If she _had_ to be sent back, couldn’t she at least be sent whole?

            Peachblossom found her burning holes in the Black God’s shrine with her eyes and nudged her, slobbering concern. Chilled and shaking she went with him to get tea from the gatehouse, saying to Jacut on nightwatch only that she couldn’t sleep, then filched apples from the box the duty watch kept and took Peachblossom back to the stables. After sharing the apples and stroking all her horses she eventually fell asleep in Peachblossom’s stall, head and arms pillowed on a basilisk-warmed block as he stood guard that no more nightmares should pass. Tobe found her at dawn, eyes full of worry and scold, but she woke feeling comforted from a dream of her childhood, full of breathless laughter with Cricket and Yuki about something that faded as her eyes opened. Standing with a groan she ruffled Tobe’s hair, promised him she felt better, and sent a prayer of thanks to Lord Gainel with apologies for her mortal inability to understand—withstand—the gods’ purposes.

            It was her day to deliver cheese, and after a morning going over contingency plans with Brodhelm, probing for weaknesses and noting what would need regular drills while she was away, she saddled Hoshi and rode with Connac’s squad to Spidren Wood. Besides making the delivery she invited Quenuresh to a first full meeting of New Hope’s council next day: there had been no need yet, but with departure nearing and the new company Kel wanted to be sure all were clear on what mattered. Quenuresh agreed it would be sensible, and turned out to be in a talkative mood, explaining cheerfully when Kel enquired that spidrens weren’t bothered by rain or cold and had built themselves a good shelter anyway. If really heavy snow fell she might ask to come into New Hope’s cave-system for a bit, for the younglings’ sake, but might equally stay put under heavy webbing and blanketing snow with a fire for cheer and cooking rather than warmth.

            “We have enough preserved food from you, and smoked game of our own taking, to be fine for a good while, Keladry.”

            “May I ask how you pass the time?”

            “Immortals have a lot of practice at passing time.” Quenuresh’s voice was bland, her eyes warm. “We talk and groom. The younglings have webwork to practice, and games that are fun. I believe mortals call it cats’-cradles though I have never understood why.”

            Filled with imaginings of the glory a multi-player spidrens’-cradle might be Kel trotted back up the valley, observing with satisfaction her more prosaic cradles filled with rocks. They did look obvious, though, especially with trees bare, and scrub to screen them would be wise; Adner could advise her what would grow best. A horn-call from the distant gatehouse telling her riders had been sighted brought attention sharply back to the moment and the whole party to a fast canter in tighter formation, but the reply identifying friends came almost at once. As the distance closed Kel saw for herself the horse ridden by a stocky knight just crossing the limestone bridge, a squad behind, and relaxed with an apprehensive pang. That horse she’d know anywhere.

            “Kel!” The Lioness wore full mail but only a bascinet and called out cheerfully as the parties converged. “It’s good to see you. That’s a fine-looking horse.”

            Kel reined in beside her. “Isn’t he? Tobe says he’s called Alder.”

            “Tobe? Oh, the boy you adopted. Well, he should know. Alder, eh? Where d’you get him? Is he one of Cavall’s?”

            “Yes. Wyldon gave him to me.” As purple eyes widened it struck Kel that a gift of Wyldon’s had replaced a gift of Alanna’s. “I’m so sorry about Peachblossom.”

            “Goddess, don’t apologise, Kel. It’s a risk we run. I was just surprised at Cavall—I came through Mastiff last night and he didn’t say anything. Decent of him, the old curmudgeon.” She grinned at Kel. “But Raoul did tell me, chortling the while, you’d been invited to first-name terms. Astonishing. You _have_ mellowed him. I’d be tempted to make him the same offer just to spook him but we have too much fun Cavalling and Pirate’s-Swooping one another and I’m way ahead on that deal.”

            Alanna’s irreverence was bracing and Kel smiled. “He’s been a great help, truly. He’s asked me to help instruct Owen as well.”

            “Has he indeed? Now that _is_ a good sign. But let’s get in, Kel, and you can show me this amazing place of yours. It’s perishing out here.”

            The Lioness’s dislike of cold was as notorious as Raoul’s of ceremony and Kel swung in beside her, waving Connac’s squad to fall in behind. They paused at the moatbridge, Alanna whistling appreciation when she heard what lurked under the water, then looking up at the glacis and whistling again. Reaching the tauros skulls she scowled ferociously.

            “Cavall did mention these. Blasted things.”

            “Tauroses or stormwings?”

            “Both, but I meant tauroses. Goddess, Kel, I was so sorry to—”

            “Not here, please.” Kel’s mask was firmly in place. “I thought I’d hate seeing the skulls but it’s not too bad and Jarna, who survived the attack but lost her husband, comes to look at them often. So do the orphans. Did Wyldon tell you their nicknames?”

            “He did, though he could hardly bring himself to say ‘Pizzle’ in my hearing.” Her glance was keen. “I was surprised you’d allowed it.”

            “I didn’t have much choice, any more than with that absurd Protector stuff.” They negotiated the turn, Kel waving Alanna ahead at the narrows. “You know about the Honesty Gate?”

            “I certainly do and I want one of my own. George is trying to get the griffins who live down from the Swoop to fix one for us but we need Daine to interpret.” She pulled up under the lintel, raising a gauntleted hand to Merric, waiting as duty captain with an honour guard hastily assembling behind him. “Sir Alanna of Olau and Pirate’s Swoop. I mean no harm to New Hope or any who dwell here. That’s it?”

            “Yes. Try telling a lie, though.”

            Alanna’s mouth opened, then closed. “Goddess, _that_ works alright. _Very_ useful. And anyone under it can’t be fooled by illusions?”

            “Not in the least. Numair couldn’t cast one that fooled it.”

            “Huh. Illusion’s not his strongest talent, though.”

            “No, but neither could Quenuresh, and it _is_ hers. She can vanish in broad daylight almost to fool a griffin-band but couldn’t beat the gate.”

            “Well, well. Interesting. I want to meet her.”

            “She’s coming tomorrow for a Council meeting.”

            “Good.”

            They cleared the gatehouse and dismounted. Kel let Merric speak formalities, thanked the guard, and asked Merric to deal with billeting.

            “Food? Or just a hot drink?”

            “Food would be good, once I’m out of this armour.”

            “Then let’s go see the messhall before I show you round.”

            The Lioness’s wonder at the gleaming, warm pillars of the messhall was matched by appreciation of the food the duty cook produced.

            “Whoosh! If the Green Lady can do this, she’s more powerful than Daine implies.’ She cackled. “Has it reconciled Neal to vegetables?”

            Kel grinned. “Not yet, but it’s definitely making inroads, especially the cabbage. So are Yuki’s _tsukemono_.”

            “What?”

            “Yamani pickles. Neal absent-mindedly ate a whole bowl of onion-rings in _sake_ the other night before he realised what he was doing.”

            “Wonders will never cease—not here, anyway, by the looks of it.” Alanna’s face grew serious, though not grave. “You know you’ve done something amazing here, Kel? Cavall waxed positively lyrical last night about your defences and he wasn’t wrong. He’s told me about that poltroon Tirrsmont and your petition to the Council as well. I’m inclined to agree with him, Goddess help me, that you should just claim it as your own fief, but I’ll support whatever you want. Raoul too, and Ennor of Frasrlund. I hold his proxy and he was clear he wanted the strongest possible defence in the centre under someone who knows what they’re doing, not some pissant second son from the Corus pack.”

            “Oh. Good.” Kel swallowed, loathing politics though she was touched that the Lord of Frasrlund, whom she’d never met, should support her. “I _can’t_ just claim it, Alanna. It wouldn’t be right. I told Wyldon, it’s no time for people to be angling for themselves when we’re fighting a war.”

            “Yes, he said that too.” She received a piercing look. “I have to say, Kel, if there’s a chance to get it for you I’ll be inclined to do that, however you think yourself undeserving. Jon too, I bet.”

            “It’s not about deserving.” Even to her own ears Kel’s tone was defensive. “These people have had enough of useless overlords. Anak’s Eyrie was brave but stupid and his people paid almost as much as he did for it. And Tirrsmont is just vile.”

            “ _Useless_ overlords, surely. I doubt they’ve had enough of you, Kel.”

            “They’ve had all there is.” Her voice was bleak and Alanna clapped her on the shoulder.

            “I doubt it very much but I know how that feels. Let’s find Neal.”

            The reunion of former squire and knight mistress was warm, and Alanna couldn’t resist giving Yuki a healer’s once-over, lingering on her yet unswollen belly and nodding satisfaction, but her attention was drawn to the Green Lady’s spiral. Weighing it in her hand her eyes went distant, then snapped back.

            “This has power from the Goddess as well as the Green Lady. It’s boosted a _lot_. Mmm. The food too, probably—I wondered about that. What was it she said to you when she was leaving, Kel? As exactly as you can—Numair did tell me but precise wording always matters with gods.”

            Kel thought back. “She kissed my forehead, like a cold burn, Lord Weiryn said ‘Sarra’, sharply, and she replied … _Yes, yes, I break no rule. Keladry, my spiral will give virtue of itself, and if a woman prays to me here I will answer. But it is also of the Great Goddess and will summon her in your need if you call. Remember._ I thanked them and they both said  I’d ‘deserved my blessings’. Then they went silver and vanished.”

            “ _And will summon her in your need_?Hmm. Have you tried?”

            “Tried what?”

            Alanna clucked impatiently. “Summoning the Goddess in your need.”

            “No. Of course not. I can’t just—”

            “Gah. Why am I not surprised? Neal, any pregnant women except Yuki coming to see you this afternoon?”           

            “No. One tomorrow morning, for more tea.”

            “Then I’d like to borrow this, if I may.” Alanna weighed the spiral, hesitating. “It’s not for me, though. Can you take it to—where’ll we be talking, Kel? Your rooms?”

            “I suppose so.”

            “Is there a fire?”

            “Of course there is. I don’t freeze myself, you know.”

            “Could have fooled me. Anyway, show me the rest of this magic castle of yours.”

            Kel gave Alanna the full treatment especially where defences were concerned, starting with gatehouse and fin-gallery. She mentioned the shots she’d managed with Weiryn’s gift, drawing a surprised whistle, and Merric’s ideas about the distance a mage or siege engine might think safe before concluding with slingwork as part of everyone’s training.

            “I don’t know why all soldiers aren’t trained with slings. You can stash one in a pocket, most battlefields have ready ammunition to hand, and even our worst shots are now better with them than with spears.”

            “Spears are pointy.”

            “Doesn’t matter if a stone’s smooth as a lake if it hits with enough force—and they do. The Scanrans we’ve killed with them … one man had been hit in the face and his skull was caved in. I think even a child with a good arm could take out a tauros and I’m wondering about giants. They’re slow, and you can angle a stone up as easily as sending it flat.”

            Alanna whistled again. “It’s an idea, Kel. There’s the training to figure—but you’ve obviously done that. Copy your rosters for practice sessions and do a report. I’ll make sure the idea’s taken seriously.”

            “Alright. That sounds good.”

            “Merric’s thinking well, too. That point about mages is good. I don’t know about engines. They tried a mangonel at the City of the Gods but a Mithran mage burned it. We’ve seen nothing worse.” Alanna frowned. “You really expect to face a siege?”

            “I know it makes no sense, but I can’t shake the thought. And that prophecy … Apart from the tauroses, the stormwings—wherever they’ve been hiding—haven’t bothered with any Scanrans we’ve killed. I can’t help thinking they’ll only _play again over the Greenwoods_ when they’ve a feast.” Kel brooded, kicking the palisade. “And I know Maggot hasn’t used engines but those killing devices came from somewhere.”

            “Eh? They came from Rathhausak.”

            “The dead souls did. Blayce’s workshop wasn’t equipped to produce blades, wire, or gears.”

            “Huh. Numair said it was all the work of one mage—Blayce’s runes and his … what? smell, I suppose, all the way through.”

            “Maybe, but I don’t think he made scores of cogs and miles of wire himself, nor coated _hundreds_ of giants’ long bones and skulls with metal that wasn’t wrapped and hammered—it was _coated_ on, like paint.”

            “Point. Definite point, Kel. Goddess, that’s a good question. So where _were_ they made?”

            “And by whom?”

            “Yush. I don’t want to think about it now, but that’s a point to make _forcefully_ to Jon and the Council.”

            “I’m more bothered by what someone might be making _now_. And engines are the least of it. There was skilled designwork in those devices—the blades had tremendous force. It was the domes that were vulnerable. If the dead children had been encased in the midsection, behind thicker metal …”

            “Hush, Kel, they weren’t and you’re giving me indigestion.”

            They completed the circuit and Alanna looked back round the walls. “Formidable, Kel. Vanget and Cavall told me this is the strongest place between Northwatch and Frasrlund, but it’s tougher than Northwatch and more compact than Frasrlund, and neither has the same depth of traps. Your box of mageblast-keys must be enormous.”

            “It’s getting that way. All clearly labelled, though.”

            Alanna cackled again, drawing glances from sentries very conscious of her presence but staring dutifully out. “So I should hope. No good blowing up your moatbridge if you mean to drop rocks on someone.” When they came to the shrines the Lioness’s mood sobered. “Neal told me about that Yamani mage nearly wetting himself when he augmented his sight. Nice statues—you’ve good woodcarvers. And about what he said of you— _awash with godlight_ , eh? Ready to talk, Kel? I get the feeling it’s not going to be pretty.”

            “No.” Kel felt reluctance rise. “I know there’s no point delaying but let’s finish first. There’s still the caves and the children will never forgive me if I don’t take the Lioness by the barracks to meet them.”

            “Alright. Whatever you want, Kel. Up to a point.”

            Hoping she wasn’t too flushed she led on to the caves,  where there was a cheerful fug Alanna greatly approved of, and the passageway to the lookout, already with a third spiral and most of a fourth. Everyone was impressed to meet the Lioness, and the children, when they reached the barracks, held back with big eyes before swarming eagerly forward. After Alanna had extricated herself, grinning, Irnai and the Scanran refugees got kind, quiet words and the young seer a searching stare; then there was no putting it off longer and Kel led Alanna to her quarters, confusion roiling in her as to what she’d thought she could say. Alanna had no doubts, though, settling herself by the fire and pointing imperiously to the opposite chair.

            “Unless you’d rather stand. I hear you prefer reporting that way.”

            “Yes. Probably. Seal the room, would you?”

            Eyebrows rose. “That bad? Alright.” Purple fire flared along walls and door. “Done.” Alanna regarded her with what Kel suspected was compassion and she squirmed inside. “Begin at the beginning, which means the Chamber and these visions it gave you. Never did that to me, thank the Goddess. But it seems to be where you got involved with the gods and that’s what matters here, as Neal tells it.”

            The Chamber Kel could manage and set off through her apparently unusual habit of testing herself against the doors, the addition to her Ordeal, and all that followed. Irnai came into the tale and Alanna sharpened as Kel gave a version of her debrief and its interruptions.

            “Then I passed out.”

            Alanna half-smiled, “Yes, I heard about that from Raoul. And about your wound from Neal.”

            “At length, I bet.”

            “He wasn’t happy when I told him off as well as Baird. And I’ll tell you off too, Kel—I understand your reasoning better than he does, but it’s no good keeping your healer fresh while you’re in real pain.”

            “He was barely recovered from saving three of us at Rathhausak .”

            “He says he had enough if you’d said. But it doesn’t matter now, Kel, and what you did does. Every one of us owes you an unpayable debt for killing Blayce. I’m so proud of you I can’t say.”

            Kel flushed. Alanna’s praise, even more than Wyldon’s, was to her fairy gold that might suddenly vanish. “I was just going after my people.”

            “Not entirely, from what you’ve been saying. You knew Blayce was behind the raid.”

            “I guessed he was but I didn’t know.”

            “Yes, you did—you just couldn’t explain how you knew. Anyway, go on from your report. I need the full story.”

            Kel was easy enough with building New Hope, but speaking of dedications and godsigns was oddly upsetting and she knew her voice was tenser. Alanna was listening intently but whenever she paused waved her on, and Kel guessed she’d heard this tale already, probably from several mouths. Eventually the story wound to the day of the attack.

            “Do you want what I experienced then or what I dream?”

            “They’re different?”

            “The tauros knocked me out. It was just pain and confusion. But when I dream it’s … vivid. All in focus.”

            “Then switch to the dream memories when you get there.”

            The alarm and combat weren’t difficult, nor the sudden, appalling pain in her leg, falling with Peachblossom, and the struggle to free herself, but when she got to the tauros leaping over his withers, where her dream usually began its slow, agonising repeat, her voice dried up. Alanna’s eyes seemed huge, their strange purple intense.

            “I know it’s hard, Kel, but Neal right that managing to say it usually helps afterwards. And exactly what happened matters in interpreting whatever it was the Black God said to you.”

            Kel nodded, swallowing. “It … the tauros, it kicked Peachblossom in the head. So hard. It made its pizzle swing, like a mace. He went still and … my mind, I was just wailing inside. I cut its arm with the glaive but the angle was wrong, I couldn’t get any force in the blow and it slammed the glaive away and kicked me. Knocked off my bascinet. That’s when it all became a blur but in my dream I feel the second kick and then it throws me a few feet and …” Her voice was very flat as she struggled to say it. “I landed on my back. I still had Griffin but it was trapped under me and I couldn’t breathe. The tauros tore off my breastplate and greaves, then my shirt and breeches, and … you know what it did.”

            “Did it bite as well as rape you? They often do.”

            “Yes. My breast. Left.” She forced out the words. “It bit the end off.” Alanna blanched. “I didn’t know at the time, only the pain. Great waves of it. Then more, inside me. I knew what was happening in my head somewhere but I didn’t understand at the time. In the dream, if it gets that far before I wake up, I can feel it much more clearly. I even feel my maidenhood go before the real pain starts.”

            “You were a virgin?” Alanna was surprised. “I thought Cleon …”

            “No, we never did.” Welcoming any other topic Kel got up to put more logs on the fire, poking it so she didn’t have to look at Alanna. “We kissed, when we could, and once almost had each other’s shirts off before we were interrupted. But apart from that time he never even put a hand on my breasts. Even when I wanted him to.” She fed smaller sticks to the blaze, watching it flare. “I thought it was because he was serious about marriage, despite his family, and nobles marry virgins.”

            Alanna snorted. “Not always they don’t.”

            “Well, it’s what I thought. But looking back, I don’t think he ever really loved … no, I don’t know that, but never really _wanted_ me. Wanted _me_ , the way I wanted him. It was the idea of a lady knight he liked, in a storybook way.” Understanding bloomed. “And being with me but never doing anything was a way to save himself for his marriage, as he thought he should, and stop me from, from … I don’t know, sullying myself, so his dream stayed pure.”

            Alanna made a rude noise. “I’m beginning to dislike him a great deal. Selfish young idiot. Still, wasn’t there ever anyone else?”

            “Not really.”

            “And you haven’t … well, obviously you haven’t, though you’re free to. Are you romantic or religious about sex?”

            “I’m not anything about it. I’d just never done it before.”

            “You haven’t now, Kel. That wasn’t sex, and don’t ever think it was.”

            “I know. It doesn’t matter anyway. I realised after Cleon had to get married that I’d probably never have a man.”

            “Eh? What do you mean, Kel, never have a man? Why not? Do you prefer women?”

            “What? Do I … oh, you mean _fujojoufu_. No. Not that I know.”

            “Then why do you—”

            Kel lost her temper though she managed to control her voice. “Alanna, your nickname is the Lioness—fierce, strong, deadly, yes, but also beautiful. Graceful. My nicknames have been The Cow, The Lump, The Girl, and Mother.” She managed a crooked smile. “Now it’s Protector of the Small, and I’ve skipped straight from maiden to crone.”

            Alanna looked appalled. “But Kel—”

            Kel’s voice got flatter still. “There have been three men I’ve ever thought about that way, Alanna, and I’ve told you about Cleon. The other two never noticed I thought anything of them except as friends, and it was clear as sunlight they both liked a very different sort of woman—with curves and graceful hands and no scars everywhere. I wasn’t, what did you say? romantic or religious about being a virgin. It was frustrating and dull, in lots of ways. I was just a realist. Gods know the only living thing that’s ever lusted for me, unless Cleon did, was that tauros. So that’s that. It’s just one more thing I’ve lost.”

            Alanna took a deep breath. “I hear you, Kel, but I don’t think it’s true in the way you mean and we’ll come back to this. But for now please go on. The tauros raped you. Forgive me, but did it spend?”

            Kel looked back at the fire. “I think so. I had these little burns on my stomach and thighs, as well as being numb inside.” Kel frowned. “Actually I think it spent when I stabbed it.”

            “You _stabbed_ it? What with? Griffin?”

            “Yes. I got it out from under me and just pushed up.”

            “Good for you.”

            “Then”—Kel looked up from the fire—“this is guessing, really. My dream never gets this far, but”—she returned her eyes to the flames—“it’s strange, but I think when I stabbed it, it spent _and_ pulled out of me at the same time. I suppose that’s how I got burns from its seed inside and out. And I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, though I wasn’t exactly thinking, because its barbs … I died of blood loss, I think. When I was sent back there was blood everywhere.”

            Alanna ‘s face was very grim. “Come here a minute, Kel.” Reluctantly Kel stood and faced her. “Closer, so I can touch your belly.” Purple fire played over Kel’s stomach, sinking in, and Alanna’s eyes were distant for a few seconds. “Alright. Sit. Look at me.” Kel obeyed, feeling resentment fill her. “It did spend. Have you had a monthly since?”

            “No. I’m infertile, aren’t I?”

            “I’m sorry, yes. The gods didn’t fix that, apparently. Which … no, tell me what happened after you died—as exactly as you can.”

            “Oh, there’s no problem being exact with that, though I’ve not told anyone the full story. Quenuresh knows most—I talked to her while she was helping with Peachblossom afterwards.”

            “Start at the beginning, Kel. You died. Then what?”

            Kel told her, letting the words the Black God and Hag had spoken flow from her memory at last. Alanna was speechless for a long moment.

            “You saw his face.” Her voice was wondering. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing that. Nor of receiving such forgiveness for sending souls to him. Goddess knows you’ve paid a high price but I could envy you that.”

            Kel didn’t turn her head. “Quenuresh said he hadn’t showed anyone his face for an eon, and the forgiveness thing has happened ‘only thrice since the Godwars’, whenever they were. So I’m number four.”

            “And the only one alive, almost certainly. I understand why you haven’t told anyone _that_ bit. But the Black God said it was a gift of his own giving, yes? And before that the key things were that Shakith said you couldn’t have avoided death, the tauroses were chaos-touched and Mithros and the Goddess wouldn’t permit interference by Uusoae, they were busy elsewhere, and his _daughter’s_ healing would be _only of your life_. Goddess, that’s odd. Then he showed his face, gave you his blessing, and the Hag showed up with her hyena. What were her words again?”

            Still not looking at Alanna, Kel repeated them.

            “Sakuyo’s a mystery to me but he laughed here and he’s obviously watching as closely as any of them. George says the Hag’s a trickster too, so I guess that makes sense. His Spearness would be Mithros, I suppose. Huh. Good one. And the last thing she said was that you needed teasing? It doesn’t make much sense. Do you know what she meant?”

            “Oh yes. I know exactly what that … what she meant.”

            Alanna cocked an eyebrow. “You sound angry with her, Kel.”

            “Furious. I know I shouldn’t be but … oh curse that Hag. I’ll just show you. It’s easier.” She took off tunic and shirt and unwound her breastband, movements jerky with rage. “There. See? Even the tauros’s bitemarks are preserved but nothing else. It has no feeling at all.”

            “Goddess!” Alanna peered at the grey _thing_ that was shaped like but wasn’t her breast—blunt and lifeless. “It’s numb, you say? May I …?”

            “Go ahead. I won’t feel anything.”

            Dubiously Alanna prodded. “It’s warm. You don’t feel _anything?_ ”

            “Not directly. If it moves enough to pull the living bit I feel that.”

            “And is—”

            “Yes, the same, where the barbs ripped me. Do you need to see?”

            “Yes. I’m sorry.”

            Wordlessly Kel stripped off the rest of her clothes. Distantly, behind rage, she thought Alanna might be more embarrassed than she was, but her shame was being drowned in fury. Pulling breeches back on and rewrapping her breastband she found her hands shaking and couldn’t tuck in the loose end.

            “Let me.”

            Alanna did it efficiently and Kel found herself spitting words again.

            “That’s the Hag’s tease. Mockery would be a better word. It wasn’t enough not to let me die or to send me back alone.”

            “Alone?”

            “The tauroses killed nine people, not counting me. Did they somehow get magically not chaos-touched when they were killing Wallan and Pevis and Crener and those poor farmers, or raping the other women? My death’s forbidden for some reason but not theirs. That’s why I didn’t say anything about being dead. I was ashamed. I _am_ ashamed. I can hardly look Jarna in the eye.”

            “Goddess, Kel—”

            “It’s not even punishment. If I’d done something to warrant that I’d understand. But I haven’t, that I know. And I think the Black God’s grace was a kind of compensation for what he knew his daughter would do. But he didn’t stop her.”

            “Kel, I don’t believe the Goddess intended this at all. It’s not like anything I’ve ever heard of.”

            “Yes, she did. The night before I …” Embarrassment suddenly returned. “I was … in bed, I was … I touched myself thinking about D— … about a man I … imagined I wanted and it was lonely and … and honourless and I thought maybe I should just have done, and dedicate my virginity as a warrior, a Lady Knight, to the goddess, like those fighting priestesses in Sarain.” Kel could hear bitterness crowding her voice and couldn’t stop it. “Daine told me to be careful what I prayed for but it _wasn’t_ a prayer, only a thought. I was _mocking_ myself, my own stupid needs and wanting someone who doesn’t notice me because no-one wants a _cow_ with a body like a tree-trunk. But they heard me in all my stupidity and shame and they mocked me for real.” Her voice was rising and she couldn’t control it. “I was thinking I should put the energy into service, not mooning about, and I would have, but no, I can’t be trusted to do that even when I’m already so plain I’m of no interest to any man, I have to be made a horror to myself too.”

            Her face was wet, mortification and rage seamlessly one.

            “All I ever wanted was to be a knight so I could help people, and just for that all those people insulted and mocked me, the _Girl_ , the _Probationer_ , the _Lump_. Joren and Vinson and Garvey and Quinden and all those boys, jeering and tricking and spitting, and now the _gods have done it too_ and I can’t stand it. They want me to do something and it needs _this?_ It’s …it’s …”

            Whooping for breath, aching with rage, she ran out of words and truth as a shaking Alanna grabbed and held her, silently, until she’d stilled, then guided her to her chair. In some part of her mind Kel noted she was again dealing with her high command stripped to her breastband and wondered if she’d ever find anything funny again, with self-mockery such a bitter taste in her mouth.

            “Kel, Goddess knows I can understand why you’d think all that, and I’m sorry I didn’t realise how isolated you’ve been. Well, I did, but thanks to Cavall and that blasted probation nonsense there wasn’t anything I could do. But you’re wrong about the Goddess, I swear. She’d never intend this, or do this.”

            “She already did.”

            “No she didn’t, the Hag did. Now, listen. The Black God said his _daughter’s_ healing was only of your life—and I don’t think she can do any more than that. She’s the only god who can raise the dead—it’s the power she lent Daine in Carthak that got us Bonedancer—and I suspect she was needed here, for you, because of it. But he didn’t say anything about any _other_ god’s healing, and when the Green Lady gave you that warning about calling on the Goddess in need, I’m betting she knew this death was waiting for you, _and_ knew what would happen, and wanted you to call on the Goddess to heal you properly. Only you haven’t because you thought you were meant to stay like this. We can fix that right now.”

            Kel blinked tears, trying to process what Alanna was saying. “Fix what? How?”

            “Fix you, by calling on her, of course. She usually listens to me and we’ve got that spiral.”

            “No.” Kel’s reaction was panic-stricken. “I can’t face the Goddess.”

            “Why ever not?”

            “I … I …” Truth broke through again, the thing all her anger had done its best to hide though it never really hid anything and tears rolled again down her face. “I’m too ashamed. I failed her, failed myself and those poor women. But I’ve been given another chance to do what I most want, to defend them all against whatever it is that’s going to happen, sent back by the Black God himself with such sadness and kindness in his eyes. I can’t demand _more_.”

            “Kel, that’s nonsense. You didn’t fail anyone.”

            “Yes I did, Alanna. They’re dead and I should be. Protector of the Small? I couldn’t even protect myself.”

            “Horsebuns. We need the Goddess right now. Where’s that spiral?”

            Ignoring Kel’s protests Alanna rose and fetched it, then to Kel’s distant shock grinned. “You might want to put your shirt on first.”

            Shaking, Kel did so, wondering if she could stand another god but knowing she couldn’t stop Alanna and finding some part of her wondering if the Lioness was right, the grey lines in her flesh just a stopgap, not a judgement. But there was no time—Alanna didn’t use much ritual, just held the spiral, took a few dried leaves from her belt pouch and threw them into the fire, and closed her eyes, concentrating. For a moment nothing happened, then a glow filled the room, brightening swiftly to silver and vanished leaving a tall woman in a long dress standing beside Alanna. Kel stared as her stomach churned. _I am a lake, I am calm, I am a lake._ The mantra didn’t have much effect but the Goddess was looking at Alanna, not at her.

            “My daughter. You did well to call me.” The voice pierced like a blade, with that same belling of hounds running through it, and the face turned to Kel, as remote and serene as it was impossibly close, eyes a gateway to stars. “And you have done well also, my daughter. This suffering was no part of our intent.”

            Kel felt like a little girl again, at her mother’s knee, though the goddess was no taller than she was herself. She hung her head, voice a whisper. “I’m so sorry I failed you.”

            “You did not fail me, daughter, though you have not served yourself so well. Look at me.” The command could not be refused and those eyes swallowed her. “Come now and be healed.”

            The goddess held out her arms and Kel tottered into them, dissolving. Alanna found herself looking away from the anguished noise, tears in her eyes, but mercifully the sound faded in that divine embrace as silver cloaked Kel from head to foot. When Alanna turned back the Goddess was looking at her, face filled with sorrow and something else.

            “I have been in distant lands and she did not call on me. But I shall have words for the Hag. You were right that her power was needed but she chose this manner.”

            Alanna took a deep breath, thinking bitterly that her restoration in Carthak after Ozorne’s fall didn’t seem to have improved the Hag’s manners or temperament. “What is it you need Kel to do, my Lady? Or was it just Uusoae’s interference?”

            “Both. But I cannot speak of the future even to you, daughter. The balance is undecided and much may rest on her. She has chosen well so far, and we would not let remnants of Chaos prevent her.”

            “Kel was … very distressed about the others who were killed.”

            “They are at ease in the Peaceful Realms. Even for this my brother would not have let her return from the death of her body were it not for what Shakith has seen. But having allowed her return he does not grudge her wholeness. I will heal her in her womanhood but I cannot heal her mind, and the damage she has suffered in coming so far is grievous.”

            “I realise, my Lady. It’s not just the rape.”

            “No, though few deaths are worse. It is the hatred she has faced for long, and her reaction to the visions the elemental sent to guide her to the necromancer. The lives she saved seem to her less than the lives she could not. Tell her when she wakes that my brother gives special care to the children the necromancer killed. They play in peace and are annealed of pain and sorrow. And she is free to speak of all she knows.”

            Surprised, Alanna thought furiously. “Of being sent back, my Lady?”

            “All.”

            “I’ll tell her, but I doubt she’ll want to. Few would believe her.”

            “She may have need and we will attest it, if she calls us. Tell her.”

            “I will, my Lady.”

            The silver faded. “It is done. She will wake at dawn.”

            Hastily Alanna stepped forward to take Kel as the goddess released her, sliding an arm around her. A hand rested momently on her head.

            “You have my blessing too, my daughter, as you have always done.”

            Power swirled and Alanna was alone with Kel’s considerable weight resting on her. With a grunt she lifted Kel to her shoulder and made for what must be the bedroom door, blessing military consistency when it was. After laying her on the bed she pulled off boots, set them down, and muttering curses at the Hag managed the rest of Kel’s clothes, thought about a nightshirt, then just manoeuvred her into bed. The flesh she saw for the second time was pink and healthy, breast restored and womanhood unmarked. Alanna smoothed her hair affectionately.

            “Little idiot. Big idiot, actually. The Goddess isn’t like that at all.” She straightened groaning, hands in the small of her back. “How could you think it?”

            But she knew: she hadn’t faced such hatred until she was a knight, she’d always had her Gift and since she’d been a squire the Goddess, and Faithful, _and_ she’d found her body’s grace with Jonathan knowing George was waiting. In those terms Kel had had _nothing_ and Alanna marvelled anew, as when she’d heard about Lalasa Isran’s kidnapping and what Kel had done, and when she’d seen Kel joust and realised how good she was. She’d felt it again this summer when Jon contacted told her Kel was back and confirmed Blayce’s death and the rescue of all—count ’em, _all_ —the kidnapped children, all but a dozen adults, and all surviving liegers of King Maggot himself; whose clanhome, Jon added with grim satisfaction, had been burnt. And now this—gods all over doing things they hadn’t done for millennia and Kel working wonders while believing herself as mocked by gods as she had been by so many fellow Tortallans.

            “You’re still an idiot, but Goddess, you’re amazing.” Stooping Alanna kissed Kel’s brow and went back to the study, adding logs to the fire and putting up the guard before recalling her magic from walls and door and heading out to find some of that excellent food and do some reassuring. As she closed the outer door behind her the next along opened and Tobe’s head stuck out, followed by Neal’s above and Jump’s below, a sparrow perched between his ears. Alanna shook her head.

            “She’ll be fine. The goddess has healed her properly and she’s sleeping. Tobe, go keep her company, and take Jump and Nari, is it? Keep an eye on the fire too. Oh, and I couldn’t get her into a nightshirt so mind how you hug her. Neal, I’m not saying a thing—it’s up to Kel what she chooses to tell anyone, but I promise you she’s better now than the last two gods she met left her.”

            “The _last two_ … Mithros.”

            “No, he’s one she hasn’t met yet. Something to look forward to. Now, take me to food, quickly. I want to try these whatchamacallums, pickles that Yuki makes. Chop chop.”

            Wisely, Neal chopped.

 

* * * * *

 

It was exactly dawn when Kel opened her eyes to find Alanna sitting on the end of her bed, drinking a mug of tea and offering another.

            “She said you’d wake at dawn. The gods’ sense of time isn’t always so precise but I thought it might be this time. Here. Door’s shut and Tobe’s asleep, finally, so you can sit up. How much do you remember?”

            “Everything, I think.” Slowly Kel sat up, sheet and blanket falling away. She looked at her healthy breast and cupped it, rejoicing in sensation. “Is my …”

            “Yes, the rest of you’s fixed as well. Do you want this tea? It’s proper stuff, not a healer’s brew.”

            “Please.” She was very thirsty, hungry too; healings did that and she’d missed dinner. “Thank you, that’s good. And thank you for—”

            “You don’t have to thank me, Kel. You were owed. Are owed. Now, if you’re properly awake, listen a minute. With your Council meeting at mid-morning we don’t have a lot of time but there’s a few things that need saying, starting with the fact that you’re an idiot. I called you one several times last night while I was putting you to bed. I _am_ beginning to understand just how bad a time you’ve had, and I _do_ understand how it felt like mockery, as if the gods had done what Joren did, the same way the tauros echoed that rapist Genlith.”

            Kel hadn’t thought of that at all and blinked surprise.

            “You were dealing with the Hag and she can be plain mean, though you’d no reason to know. But even so you shouldn’t have thought the Goddess had done _that_. All gods are baffling, I know, but few do things like that. And you let it stay that way when if you’d called on the Goddess—which the Lady told you to do—you’d have been fixed quicker.”

            “Maybe so—”

            “No maybes about it, Kel. And if you’d told me what was afflicting you, even hinted, I’d have told you there and then to use that spiral and call the Goddess.” Alanna wagged a finger. “It’s not talking to the healer, again. I have more sympathy for Neal about your shoulder than I did yesterday. It’s also what you did when you reported to Jon expecting him to send you off to Traitor’s Hill for having disobeyed Cavall’s idiot order, hmm? Thinking you deserve to be punished when the opposite is true? Well, stop it. Natural modesty served you well as a page and squire, very well, but as a commander we need you beating up Scanrans, not yourself. Not that you don’t beat up Scanrans too.”

            Given that she was sitting topless in bed, and bottomless too from the feel of it—the _feel_ of it—Kel wasn’t so sure about modesty, natural or otherwise, but did hear what Alanna was saying; then again, she’d heard Wyldon to the same effect as well. All she really wanted to do was inspect herself and absorb being whole, but Alanna wasn’t done.

            “Now, a couple of other things. The Goddess said she’d healed you in your womanhood, so expect monthlies to start again and get an anti-pregnancy charm.” Alanna held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you’re unlikely to need one. It’s your body and your decision but all that stuff you were saying about being ugly just isn’t true, Kel. You just haven’t met the right person, and I doubt you’ve been trying. But there’s something else as well, because just as all the insults made you _feel_ ugly, and Goddess knows I understand how _that_ works, the adulation you’ll get in Corus will make you feel very differently about yourself. Or it should.”

            “ _Adulation?_ Alanna, why in the mortal realms should I—”

            Alanna sighed. “Kel, your report was _published_ , remember—and that doesn’t mean copied by a clerk for the files. It was read out in the main square and when we ride into Corus there’s going to be a young riot. Jon wanted an official welcome but I managed to head him off. Can’t do that to the people, though.”

            Appalled, Kel hunched into her pillows. “I don’t _want_ adulation.”

            “Tough. Shouldn’t be a heroine then—comes with the job. Anyway, everyone knows about Rathhausak and the killing devices. Jon put one on show as soon as he was sure Blayce was dead.” Kel shuddered. “It was a good move. And it’s gone now, I’m assured. But they _don’t_ know about your dying and being sent back.” Again she held up a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t tell whoever, and I won’t tell anyone before you do, even George or Jon. But I am saying it’s your decision if and whom you do. The Goddess said _Tell her also that she is free to speak of all she knows_. I said I didn’t think you’d want to and people wouldn’t believe you, but she said _She may have need and we will attest it, if she calls on us_. So— _if_ you need at some point to say what happened, and anyone scoffs, swear by her and make the circle.”

            Wide-eyed, Kel nodded. “Alright. I can’t imagine why I’d want to tell anyone but I’ll remember.”

            “See you do. For the Goddess to mention it there must be a future where you’ll need to, for some reason. Who knows?”

            Kel mulled it over. “You said she said ‘Tell her _also_ …’. Also what?”

            Alanna’s face softened. “Pure comfort. The children Blayce killed have special treatment from the Black God. _They play in peace, and are annealed of their pain and sorrow_ , she said. And the others the tauroses killed. The Black God was only willing to let you return because of what Shakith has seen, Uusoae’s influence or no, but the others _have_ been comforted. I thought you’d want to let the orphans know, and Jarna. Best do it today. I don’t like the look of the weather and we’ll need to be gone tomorrow.”

            Too grateful to speak Kel nodded and Alanna rose. “Go wash. I’m going to sleep, but have me woken in good time for the meeting please.”

            “Of course. Were you up all night? I’m sor—”

            “ _Do_ stop apologising, Kel. And I wasn’t. You were sleeping and I left you to it. Tobe kept the fire going, bless him, until I sent him to bed a candle-mark ago. But I was up late with Neal and Yuki—having had to miss their wedding thanks to Maggot we had catching up to do. I didn’t say anything except the Goddess healed you properly; what you tell them’s up to you. Now I’m going, and you need to be.”

            Left with a sense of bobbing in Alanna’s wake like a cork Kel was able at last to examine and find herself whole. Washing, the simple pleasure of responsive flesh brought tears and she let them flow, but the morning was too good, much too good, to spend snivelling. Dressed and feeling wonderful, if bemused, she looked in on a sleeping Tobe, collected Jump and Nari, and went to find people to give good news. Most at New Hope rose at dawn and neither the orphaned children or Jarna were exceptions. Though the sun was shining the fort remained in the fin’s shadow and the air had a bite, but telling them to dress warm and swinging her arms in a brisk routine while she waited, she led them to the shrines and quietly told them of the Goddess’s reassurances. The tears were collective, with prayers of thanks to the Black God, and when they’d run their course Kel scooted them all off to breakfast.

            Ravenous, she piled her tray with extra bacon and went to sit with Neal and Yuki, tucking in. Both eyed her curiously.

            “You seem better. The Goddess came, Alanna said?”

            “She did. I am. Never better.” Kel applied herself to eating as they exchanged glances, then relented. “I expect I’ll tell you sometime, but not now. It’s too good to be whole again, and I have to prepare for the meeting as I didn’t get anything done last night.”

            “It sounds like you got a great deal done, Kel.” Yuki smiled, relief in her eyes. “Just not for the meeting.”

            Kel cleaned her plate. “I suppose. I wasn’t really doing anything, though. Just talking and being healed.”

            “Exhausting activities both.” Neal’s irony was a refuge, his voice light. “It _is_ good to see you less troubled, Kel.”

            “It’s good to be so.” She reached to squeeze their hands, then stood and on impulse leaned and kissed them both, Neal on the forehead and Yuki on the cheek. “Thank you both, for everything. You’re better friends than I deserve. I must go. See you both at the meeting.”

            Pleased to leave someone else looking as bemused as she felt she bounced to the stables, woke Peachblossom by kissing his muzzle, and spent twenty minutes apologising to her horses for having been moody and spreading cheer with apples. That done she went to headquarters, goosed clerks with warm greetings, and retired to her office to sort out what she wanted from the meeting. There wasn’t much, mostly to make sure everyone knew what should happen in her absence, but with her mind spinning she did think of a few points to mention and soon had a neatly written agenda. She fitted in a check with the gatehouse and a quick round before getting mugs of tea from the messhall and going to wake Alanna with a return favour as a downpayment of gratitude.

            The meeting was both extraordinary and without event. All but Alanna knew one another well by now but were self-consciously pleased to inaugurate New Hope’s Council; then again, there were ten people, three of them women, a basilisk, an ogre, and a very large spidren more or less sitting round a table. Alanna had been distinctly pale when first introduced to Quenuresh at the gatehouse, but the spidren mage’s respectful enquiry about the divine disturbance the previous evening, followed by a warm greeting to Kel and a deal of magely talk, had left Lioness and immortal more interested in one another than wary.

            The routine issues of Brodhelm’s command with Mikal as second, with what he might and might not ask of immortals, and work priorities until winter harvest were all briskly sorted—practice sessions, especially with bows and slings; the gallery and lookout post; children’s education and care; cross-training for adults. Then they turned to contingencies for attacks or emergencies and the only sharp moment came when Merric leaned back and gestured at the window.

            “Surely, Kel, but unless my nose is all wrong snow will be here tonight or tomorrow, and everything’ll seize up until the thaw.”

            “Never think it, Merric.” Kel’s voice was hard and Merric sat straighter. “Tell me, what would you do if you wanted to attack New Hope, and had reports of an unscaleable glacis?”

            “I’m not sure, Kel. I’d _hate_ to have to assault this place.”

            “Think again.”

            There was a pause before Brodhelm spoke. “Treason. Gates fall to treachery way more often than assault.”

            “Exactly.” Kel looked Merric in the eye, then ran round everyone. “ _Don’t_ relax because it snows. Merric, it’s Midwinter Eve, nightwatch, snowing like crazy, and a party of obviously poor Scanrans shows up. They’re freezing and there are children, at least one evidently injured. ‘Please.’ they say, ‘we ask for refuge. We’ve fled Maggot’s cruel oppression. Let us in.’ What do you do?”

            Merric looked at her. “Stay suspicious, obviously.”

            “Right. No-one, _no-one_ you don’t know personally comes in without the full gate routine, and if you _do_ know them but they’ve never been here before you do the routine anyway. All of it, every time. The slightest hesitation or doubt—anything at all—and you treble the questions. Think about what’s appropriate—not just ‘do you mean harm?’ but where were you born, where have you come from, are you loyal to Maggur, are you under orders, have you come because anyone asked you to, or told you to, do you have any mission here? The works.”

            “Kel, half those are the same thing.” Merric frowned. “If someone isn’t loyal to Maggur they wouldn’t be coming here on a mission for him.”

            “Not true, Sir Merric,” Zerhalm was blunt, Scanran accent thick. “Maggur Reidarsson deals in hostages and terror. It is well within his cunning to hold a wife or child and send the husband here. Or to hold husband and wife and send the child.”

            “Just so.” Kel looked round. “If any Scanrans show up send for Zerhalm at once—he can question them in ways we can’t. Similarly, if Tortallan commoners show up send for Fanche and Saefas, or if immortals show up—which I’m really not expecting but that’s when it happens—send for our residents.”

            “And what do we do if someone _is_ suspicious?”

            “Good question. If they’re armed, fight. If it’s civilians or military wounded, well, I’ve been thinking. We don’t have a secure cell because we’ve never needed one, but that can change. Var’istaan, Kuriaju, can you carve out a small chamber, no larger than it need be, with exactly one door? Thank you. Brodhelm, the smiths can see to that door. I want new locks for the gates, too—those up-and-down ones as well as crossbars.”

            “Good idea.” Brodhelm made a note.

            “If anyone is really problematical ask Quenuresh to wrap them up tighter than any fly and spoonfeed them. She can call the griffins if there’s any uncertainty about anyone lying.” Kel checked her agenda. “Brodhelm, Mikal, Merric, Uinse, when it snows be sure Peachblossom’s loose and double your inspections of the duty watch—there’s nothing like long cold winter nights to make sentries silly. Keep the roadway clear as far as the moatbridge too—it’s no good having a killing field if you can’t see your traps. And one more thing.” She leaned back herself. “Uinse, what would you do if you wanted to weaken us as much as you could?”

            The former convict thought deeply. “Anything I could. Armies can’t move in snow, but small bands can. I’d scout all I could while I thought we were dozing, salt winter crops, trigger rockfalls if I knew about them, and take killing shots from deep cover at anyone who came out.”

            “So would I.” Kel looked in turn at Brodhelm, Mikal, and Merric, the last her real worry; knight or no, even after Haven Merric didn’t quite believe the worst could occur, regardless of precautions and weather. He’d never died of it. “Don’t think it _might_ happen—assume it will, every day, every night. Check fields regularly for tracks. Quenuresh, could you ask the griffins to keep careful watch also whenever they fly? If it’s moving on two legs Brodhelm needs to know. I’ll ask the centaurs, and the sparrows can patrol as well. Oh, and the griffins and centaurs are welcome to food or shelter if they want it.”

            Quenuresh smiled widely. “I doubt either will but they’ll be pleased you think to offer.”

            “As they will. What matters is that everyone is vigilant, always. I _don’t_ expect an army but I do expect something, some try for advantage or a killing. And please be careful yourselves. Everyone here is a prime target for anyone who wants to weaken us.”

            Zerhalm leaned forward. “You also, Lady Kel. An agent of Maggur’s need not come to New Hope to weaken us if you are in Corus.”

            “True. I doubt he’s thinking quite that way, but I _shall_ be taking care, every day, I promise.”

            The meeting broke up, various participants seeking more personal discussions, and after lunch Kel, Brodhelm, and a shivering Alanna rode out with two squads to find the centaurs. Besides visits to trade and occasional sight of them with their horses in the southern valley Kel had seen little of the immortals, but when she blew the civil summons Whitelist and his mates soon trotted out of the woods. Presenting stone bowls and smoked meat Kel made introductions and requests, and after some polite, mutually satisfactory exchanges everyone trotted away again satisfied. By the time they were back at New Hope the bitter cold had vanished as even grey cloud began to set in.

            “We’ll be riding in snow tomorrow, Kel.” Alanna shivered despite the rise in temperature. “How many are we?”

            Kel counted in her head. Seaver, Neal, and Yuki wouldn’t be there, but besides Alanna there would be herself with Tobe, who had never seen Corus and preferred the idea of Midwinter celebrations at court to whatever New Hope did; Irnai, whose presence had been requested; and three men from Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s companies whom she’d granted leave to attend memorials and a wedding. Jump and the sparrows would keep Peachblossom and Hoshi company.

            “Seven, two children. Plus two squads as far as Bearsford.”

            “We’d best be off at the crack then, if we’ll have twenty-nine to find rooms for in Bearsford. Even for you I’m not camping in snow—and the _Drunken Carter_ does excellent hotpot. The innkeep was an army bowyer before he retired to marry the last one’s daughter.”

            Laughing, Kel followed her childhood heroine and friend to the messhall.


	9. Kinship

**Part III – Midwinter**

_December 461 – February 462 HE_

  

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Nine — Kinship**

_5–16 December_

 

To Kel’s eyes Corus was at once familiar and strange. Buildings were where they ought to be but the City wall and Palace enclosure seemed less impressive than she remembered. After a day she decided it was because her image had been made when she was a newcome page to whom everything was oversized, and fixed by her fear of heights and having to run the allering of the Palace wall. When she mentioned it the Lioness agreed, waggling a hand, but retorted it wasn’t Corus seeming smaller but Kel being bigger, and that as the world wouldn’t make more room for her on that account until she cleared some for herself she was bound to feel cramped. Kel took this under advisement, protesting there was quite enough of her already, but suspected Alanna was right.

            Their journey had been pleasant enough. Alder had proven as good for a journey as a joust, with an easy gait, and they had made good time. The fun of watching Tobe and Irnai see new landscapes, continuing their practical educations and drawing in soldiers travelling with them, kept conversation animated, and the children’s excited reactions to Corus and the wide Olorun, the Palace rising above the city and the expanse of the Royal Forest beyond were deeply satisfying to Kel—they ought to know what was at the heart of the realm. Her own bemused happiness continued, simple pleasure in restored well being remaining undiminished. Even resumption of her monthlies with accompanying aches and inconvenience proved welcome.

            What had not been enjoyable at all, in Kel’s opinion—Alanna and Tobe begged to differ—was entry into the city. Mindful of Alanna’s prediction about her probable reception Kel had done her level best to persuade everyone not to stop only ten miles north of the last rise before the city and ride on in winter dark and persistent drizzle, hoping an arrival closer to midnight than dinnertime would spare her whatever fuss was waiting. But Alanna had been unmoved, wanting food and warmth, with the inevitable result next day that after parting with the soldiers, all heading east, they reached the gates in late morning. The exaggerated respect of watchmen on the Kingsbridge when they identified the arrivals had been bad enough, but as they rode up Palace Way Kel heard the Chamber’s absurd tag being shouted. By the time they reached the Daymarket the crowd had thickened, and cheering started with cries of ‘Protector’ and ‘Mindelan’. Kel put her Yamani mask firmly in place until Alanna told her to smile; she thought she must look like a grinning idiot, and regarded the slow miles until they escaped into the Palace district as an ordeal she could have done without.

            She _had_ waved, mouthing platitudes amid noise while knowing she’d gone as red as a beet. It all seemed absurd, unconnected with anything that had driven her into Scanra, but she knew plenty of soldiers who’d faced killing devices and too often died on their blades had been from Corus. Even so, the relative calm of the Palace enclosure had never been so welcome, and after they’d stabled their horses she automatically set off with relief for her old rooms only to be hauled back by Alanna and steered instead not even to the knight’s wing but to a set of rooms in the commanders’ quadrant, an area new to her. Startlement ebbed when she realised Tobe and Irnai were billeted with her and had cotbeds in a side-chamber, but even more than the crowds the rooms brought home to her how her status had risen; that her command was not limited to New Hope. Sprawling as the Palace might be rooms were at a premium, and a set like these, with a privy, side-chamber, and sitting room, were gold, an unarguable sign of rank.

            Practicalities rescued her from shock and she spent an hour making sure Tobe and Irnai knew the basic layout and places that mattered, including the day-kitchen where they snagged turnovers for lunch. Then she took them to see the pages’ and squires’ wing where she’d spent so long. The pages were out with Lord Padraig in the Royal Forest, so she was spared embarrassments but missed her nephew Lachran. She and the children did get strange looks from squires who happened to see them, and though Kel had intended to go on to the Own’s barracks and stables, where Tobe would appreciate the horseflesh and someone might have news of Dom, she headed instead up to the teachers’ floor hoping to find Daine. It turned out the Wildmage wasn’t back yet from the north but Kitten welcomed them volubly and dragged Numair from his books. Greeting Irnai gravely, he offered her meetings with other seers resident at the Palace, if she’d like, while Kel and a charmed Tobe were enthusiastically bombarded by Kitten with the news that her grandsire had promised to visit her during the celebrations to see how she fared and teach her new dragonspells. The opal dragon Kawit was already at the Palace and he wanted to have a long talk with her too.

            “There’s _another_ dragon here?”

            _There is._ Kitten’s mindvoice sounded very smug.

            “And your grandsire is Diamondflame? The eighty-foot one?”

            _Eighty-five, not counting his tail. Dragons don’t have kings but he is the most important except for Rainbow Windheart and the strongest magically. He says I will be very strong too because I have started young and had many experiences in the mortal realms. I saw him in the Dragonlands five years ago but he has not been here since he brought Mama and me back from the Divine Realms after she killed Ozorne._

            Who Rainbow Windheart might be Kel wasn’t sure but a memory clicked in her mind. “Was that when you gave Lord Mithros a scolding?”

            _Yes, but he didn’t listen. Grandsire says gods usually don’t and that is one reason they are so annoying._

Kel hadn’t thought of gods that way but decided Diamondflame sounded a very sensible dragon. “Well, if you meet the Graveyard Hag, please scold her for me. Bite her too, if you get a chance.”

            _She is strange even for a god. I met her in Carthak and she upset Mama a great deal, so I will certainly bite her if I get the chance. What has she done to annoy you?_

            “She played a trick on me I didn’t like at all. It was nasty and personal, so I hope you do get the chance. But please don’t ever bite the Goddess or the Black God—they’ve both been very nice to me.”

            _Alright. You have been meeting a lot of gods, Kel. I saw a great many at their Court with Mama but I haven’t met any since except Mama’s parents. Grandsire says dragons annoy them as much as they annoy us, but that is silly. Most dragons are nice._

            “If they’re like you they must be, and I’m happy you’re so happy about seeing your grandsire.” Whether anyone else would be pleased by a visiting eighty-five-foot dragon Kel doubted, but looked forward to the event. “I need to see my parents, too, and take Irnai to meet them.”

            _They will be pleased to see you, as I am. How long are you staying?_

            “I’m not sure, but until after the celebrations at least. Then it depends on the weather. I’ll see you again when your Mama gets back if not before. And if you get bored I’m sure Tobe and Irnai would be glad of a visit. Do you know where my new rooms are?”

            Kitten didn’t so Kel explained, and after quietly telling Numair that the Goddess had visited New Hope and there were fragments of information he could get from Alanna, she took Tobe and Irnai to bathe and change before going to her parents’ townhouse. Determined to avoid any repeat of the fuss in the city she put her status to use and nabbed a closed carriage from the palace yard, which pleased both children. Her parents’ house-steward Hiroaki was surprised but pleased to see her, offering dignified congratulations in a reserved Yamani way she could deal with, and they made their way to the sitting room her parents used.

            Both were there, delighted to see her and Tobe and meet Irnai again, but so was Conal and even while her parents were greeting Irnai Kel knew that however popular her adventures might have made her with the citizens of Corus it had only deepened his open dislike. In the strange way of bullies he’d never forgiven her for being his victim in childhood, nor for the threats to disown him in which her father had exploded after the tower episode; perhaps in consequence he’d come to regard their parents as too liberal, and as a knight had drifted towards conservatives who loudly condemned the ‘irresponsible and sacrilegious decision’ to allow a girl page. His first words were an aggressive sneer.

            “So, little sister, you think your popularity and pet status entitles you to disrespect nobles from the Book of Silver, do you? You’d better not try such a thing in _my_ presence.”

            Kel blinked, realising he must be referring to Tirrsmont, and though dismayed to discover that story in circulation anger flared with memory of the man’s disregarded responsibilities. Her voice came out clipped.

            “If you mean Tirrsmont, Conal, I suggest you discover how General Vanget refers to him before you decide he’s a paragon of virtue. Unlike him I said nothing untrue or obscene, and he was far outside his rights.”

            Her tone brought her mother’s head round but he didn’t notice.

            “You insulted and threatened him on his own lands and you’ll not get away with it.”

            “They’re not his, Conal, and never will be. He disgraces his title.”

            “You’re the disgrace, you and this Scanran bastard.”

            Red faced he left, ignoring the children save for a look of contempt that brought concern to Tobe’s face, and Kel cursed him viciously in her mind before telling her son he was in a bad mood and not to fret. Obviously cross, her mother started to apologise to Tobe but Kel hushed her.

            “It doesn’t matter, mama. He’s always been a grouch.”

            “It’s worse than that, Kel, and you know it. He has no civility or judgement these days. I’m really quite tired of the boy.”

            For her mother those were strong words and Kel wondered what Conal had been saying or doing to warrant them, but friendlier family chat was more enticing. A letter from Patricine in the Islands had arrived the previous week, and after news of Anders, Inness, and her sisters—Oranie and Adelia would shortly be arriving with husbands and children but pregnant Demadria was staying with her new husband—there was the foiled attack on Mindelan to hash over.

            “Are the navy ships still there?”

            Her father nodded. “The damaged one is being repaired but another arrived as cover. Wolfship season’s over though, thank Mithros.”

            “Good. I have a horrible feeling it was a revenge attack. I’m sorry.”

            “Oh nonsense, Kel. Even if we _were_ targeted you’ve no call to apologise.” Her mother searched her face. “But what about you? Your letters said nothing but there was a rumour you’d been hurt again. The King said it was just a close call but wouldn’t say what happened.”

            The invitation was obvious and Kel had reluctantly decided honesty required her to tell her mother the truth, but hoped to tell the story only once and had warned Tobe and Irnai—who knew how badly she’d been affected—she’d be deflecting enquiries.

            “Not now, Mama. It’s complicated and it was rough for a while, but I promise you I’m well. Very well, in fact. Are you training in the mornings with Shinko and the Queen?”

            Accepting her words, though obviously concerned, Ilane nodded. “Whenever I can. Will you join us tomorrow?”

            “Yes. If Shinko and the Queen have time after we might talk then.”

            “Alright. Now, about those glaives you wanted …”

            An hour passed in chatter and Kel was delighted to see Tobe relaxing, though wide-eyed at the size of the house and the more exotic Yamani items among her parents’ décor. Irnai was more self-contained but obviously happy too, interested in lifestyles new to her. Dragging herself reluctantly away Kel took them to Lalasa’s dress shop, for the pleasure of seeing her friend and the serious business of tailoring. Her dresses damaged at Haven had never recovered and while she hoped to get away with attending only the Queen’s and King’s balls there was no escaping those; she also wanted a dress to celebrate her healing, and was determined Tobe and Irnai would have some finery.

            As soon as Lalasa saw them she excused herself from a hectoring woman whom no skill in needlework would ever make look other than comfortably plump but whose affront seemed almost to become pleasure when she realised with squeaking excitement she’d been abandoned for the Protector of the Small herself. Ignoring her, Lalasa took them to a private room and after shutting the door hugged Kel fiercely.

            “Oh, my Lady, it’s so good to see you. I nearly burst when they proclaimed your report in the Daymarket. And business has been non-stop ever since.”

            “It’s your skills that do that Lalasa, and it’s good to see you too. Thank you for that wonderful kimono as well—it’s lovely, and it’s been a boon. But let me introduce you to Tobe, my son, and to Irnai.”

            Lalasa knew about her adoption of Tobe and recognised Irnai’s name from Kel’s report, eyes widening before natural kindness took over and she welcomed the girl. They chatted, Kel learning with a first real satisfaction in her new status that besides swelling Lalasa’s business with a range of customers from circles that hadn’t previously patronised her, the self-defence classes for women had also swollen in size and number since the report had made Kel famous.

            “Most people knew you’d taught _me_ , of course—I tell every new group about that—but when I started out some lower-city men were very rude about women fighting, and about you, my Lady. Not now, though—they’re _proud_ of a connection. I’ve four women teaching classes, including a Dog from the Jane Street Kennel, and it’s put a spring in all our steps, that you did what all the top knights and mages couldn’t.”

            Kel still wanted to be flustered by such inordinate praise but her genuine gladness at the increase in the number of women who could reasonably hope to defend themselves against a predator like Vinson made it easier to accept. She did steer conversation as swiftly as possible to New Hope, letting the children describe it and the visit of the Wildmage’s parents. Lalasa just smiled at their account of the glacis and caves, not visualising what they meant in physical terms, but the tale of the gods’ sounds behind the chimes had her making the circle on her chest, and when she heard that when Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady had manifested Kel had asked them to dinner and they had danced she was for once rendered speechless, staring consternation.

            “You … you invited them to _dinner_ , my Lady?”

            Kel smiled ruefully. “I did, Lalasa. They wanted to see their daughter as well as bless their shrines so it was only polite. And they were very kind though Lord Weiryn’s antlers are a bit disconcerting.” Lalasa didn’t look convinced simple politeness required divine dining, nor sure what to make of anyone having antlers, but with a surge of affection and a sense of mischief she hadn’t felt for a long time and rejoiced to feel again Kel leaned forward confidentially.

            “I’ll tell you what was much more surprising, Lalasa—I danced with Lord Wyldon!”

            Lalasa’s hands flew to her mouth. “You didn’t!”

            “”Oh yes I did. He asked and I could hardly refuse. He’s mellowed more than you’d think possible. He’s a good dancer too.”

            “My Lady!”

            Lalasa’s real amusement at the idea of stiffly proper Wyldon doing such a thing and having light feet got her over her astonishment at Kel’s consorting with gods and they turned to business. Kel explained with apologies and regret what had happened to her wardrobe when Haven burned and her need for a dress to wear to balls as well some further replacements in due course.

            “But I also want things for the children, Lalasa. A proper Mindelan tunic and good breeches for Tobe, and something lovely for Irnai. I don’t think she’s ever had new clothes or anything fine.” She ruffled the girl’s hair and was rewarded with a smile. “I know it’s a lot in a short time but they’ll be coming to the balls with me as well, so I was hoping you could manage. I’d like some sturdy everyday outfits for them too, but that’s not so urgent.”

            “It’s no problem, my Lady. Lady Oranie told me you’d be here and I know how hard you are on clothes, so I’ve things set aside. And the children’s wear is easier anyway. Let me measure you all.”

            She bustled for a moment with the knotted strings of her trade, making both children giggle by ending with careful measurement of noses, and took them off to a marvellous storeroom to discuss fabrics and details. Familiar with Kel’s taste for simpler wear than court fashion dictated she had cunning suggestions; they settled on a design Kel had never seen with a very high waist and a long skirt. The neckline would conceal the scar from Stenmun’s axe, the fall of the skirt meant she didn’t have to worry about her unfashionable figure, and the high-cinched waist worked far better with her small, widely spaced breasts than the low-cut, exposing necklines court women favoured and Kel had always thought more revealing than was polite. She didn’t believe Lalasa’s satisfied prediction that her appearance would make it the new fashion, though an odd look came into Irnai’s eyes as she heard the words, but if the style was experimental Kel didn’t mind—it was modest, it became her, and the worst anyone could say was that it was _un_ fashionable which bothered her not one whit. The colour would be a gorgeous deep blue Tobe wanted for his own tunic, and at Kel’s insistence embroidery would be limited to the hem and one Mindelan owl over her crossed glaives with distaff border.

            Tobe’s tunic would have owl and glaives without the border, and Lalasa found a lighter blue fabric for breeches. Irnai was more of a conundrum, so taken with the rich colours and fabrics she couldn’t say which she liked most. She was clear she didn’t want anything she couldn’t move freely in, and they decided on fine dark brown wool and a simple cut, Lalasa promising to have the dress embroidered with borders of flame in bright reds and yellows. Kel was reminded of a promise too long forgotten and asked for some red yarn for a new doll for Meech, explaining about the slow but so important balding of the old one.

            “Oh, my Lady.” Lalasa’s face softened. “What a brave lad. And only five, fancy! I’m sure I couldn’t have thought to do such a thing at that age. I know a woman in Festive Lane who makes dolls like that. She could do one for you with the right hair easily, if you’d like.”

            Kel did like, and they proceeded briskly to ordinary garments for herself and the children before returning to the private room for their usual wrangle about payment. Kel conceded on her dress, as she’d known she’d have to, but managed to get Lalasa to agree the cost of materials for the children, and a portion of the labour, would be set against Kel’s tithe from the shop’s earnings. She tried again, as hard as she could, to persuade Lalasa that profits were rightfully hers and she shouldn’t give anything to Kel—a case pressed all the harder because business _was_ booming and the size of the payments a real embarrassment—but on the principle of the thing Lalasa was absolute.

            “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have shop or profit, my Lady, and I’m still your maid. I always set my proper wage against the accounts.” She folded her arms defiantly. “I’ve more money already than I ever expected and I’ll not stint a penny of what’s yours by right and custom.”

            Kel hadn’t realised she was still—on paper—paying Lalasa a wage but stifled protest; she’d have to do some research before confronting that trick of Lalasa’s accounting. She did, however, see a different counter.

            “When’s the last time I gave you a raise? I thought so. Your wage should have gone up three or four times by now, by at least half the original sum every time. You figure that in next time you do accounts, and backdate everything—I won’t stint a penny of what’s yours either.”

            Humour and admiration sparked in Lalasa’s eyes. “Alright, my Lady. That’s proper. And there’s something else I was going to ask you. That woman in Festive Lane, and others I know, do good work and could do more if they could get themselves proper premises and stock and hire help. They can hardly get the time of day from the goldsmiths and can’t afford the rates nimmers down here charge, but don’t want charity. I lent one woman something to get herself started by hiring her as my undermaid and now she tithes to me. But you could do more and I know most of what I’ve tithed to you is just sitting in that goldsmith’s vault.”

            This idea Kel liked far more and promised to see the goldsmith to authorise Lalasa to withdraw whatever was needed. If these women had a tenth of Lalasa’s skills it promised to make Kel richer in the long run but what pleased her was allowing talented women held back by nothing more than Tortall’s snobbish conservatism to escape the poverty of so much of the lower city.

            The spark returned to Lalasa’s eye. “I thought you’d say that. Perhaps we’ll call ourselves the Protector’s Maids.”

            “You dare!”

            Lalasa grinned and her face softened into a broader smile as a tap on the door was followed by a man’s head poked through the opening.

            “Lal, are you—oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”

            “That’s alright, Tom, we’re about done, I think. Come in, please. I’d like to present you to my Lady. This is Tomas Weaver, my Lady. We met down at the fabrics warehouse at the dock and we’re good friends.”

            The man was short, slim, and cheerful, open face breaking into a smile as Lalasa spoke. “We’re courtin’, Lal, not just good friends, I hope. You’d be Lady Knight Keladry, then. I’m honoured to meet you—and thank you for all you’ve done for Lal. She’s told me a lot about you.”

            He drew himself up to bow but Kel forestalled him, offering a hand he took with pleased surprise. His own was strong and clean, with a weaver’s callouses, and though Kel was taken aback by his words, knowing Lalasa’s history and lingering aversion to male company, she could see from her eyes that Tomas Weaver had been the man to persuade her otherwise. His obvious affection and easy kindness to the children, inviting them to call him Tom, put him further in her good books. He was as enthusiastic as Lalasa about the scheme, one of the women being a lacemaker he’d known since childhood, and a plan was hatched for Kel to meet some over the festival. By the time they’d had tea and biscuits, the light was fading and Kel reluctantly rose. Tobe bounced out with Tom, but as the women followed Irnai laid a hand softly on Lalasa’s arm.

            “The god says if you choose him he will be always true and gentle.”

            Startled, Kel and Lalasa looked down at the seer smiling up at them.

            “Shakith?” Kel spoke for Lalasa’s benefit.

            “Yes.  I asked how you’d look in your dress and she showed me, just as Tom came in, then added what I said. He’s nice.”

            She skipped out after Tom and Tobe.

            “She’s for true, my Lady?”

            “She is, Lalasa. Master Numair has no doubt she’s one of Shakith’s Chosen and her voice sounded when Irnai dedicated her shrine at New Hope—like a hawk in the distance. She sort of lit up for a moment too.”

            “Oh. And Tom’s …” Her face was transformed. “I do trust him, my Lady, he’s been nothing but kind. But I couldn’t help remembering how my … how men can change with the drink in them. And now the goddess herself reassures me. _Me_.”           

            “Are you thinking to accept his proposal, then?”

            “I think I would have anyway but to be sure I’m not being a fool …”

            “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy. I’m delighted for you.”

            She gave Lalasa a hug as warmly returned and they followed the children. Not wanting to trouble with formalities after a long day Kel ignored the formal dinner sitting and took them to the kitchens that served the Own. Few she knew well were present, Raoul and Third Company having remained at Steadfast, but there were men of the First and Second she recognised who welcomed them to a plain but satisfying plat, and excellent winter-apple pie. They soon found they got better answers about Rathhausak and events at New Hope from Tobe and Irnai, so there was more chatter than Kel was comfortable with but she steeled herself. They also found a corporal from Second she didn’t know who was from Masbolle and told her that though so far as he knew no-one had heard directly from Sergeant Domitan, he gathered the injured veteran was back at home, helping his brother with the estates but afflicted with a bad limp and by all appearances a deal of pain. Wincing, Kel thanked him and promised herself she’d write to Dom again as soon as she’d got the children to bed. It wasn’t easy when she came to it, her recent experiences precluding frankness, but eventually she had a version that seemed informative and cheerful, mentioning Quenuresh and with a double exclamation-mark the litany of nicknames for the tauros skulls. She concluded with a renewed invitation to come to New Hope in spring, and went to bed in good heart.

 

* * * * *

 

When she made her way to the private practice courts at dawn, glaive in hand in case no practice weapon was available, Kel was astonished to find not only the Queen, Shinko, her mother, and a number of the Queen’s Ladies, but also Lord Padraig. The Training Master had always been a swordsman by choice, preferring his blade to any polearm, and was uncomfortable with a glaive, hands slightly misplaced and stance off, leaving his warm-up pattern dance unbalanced. As there _was_ a practice weapon waiting for her, once Kel had greeted everyone, giving Cricket a hug, she made sure he could see her as she weighed it more judiciously than she needed and carefully positioned her hands before beginning her warm-up with the slow, extended sweeps that were impossible unless your balance with the weapon was perfect. Their slowness allowed her to watch in peripheral vision as he read the lesson and adjusted his grip, at once finding a smoother rhythm. After two slow dances she recentred and started a more complex set, accelerating until her glaive was a blur and the comfortable heat of readiness filled her, sweat filming her face. When she came to a precise halt, glaive poised for the broom-sweeps-clean, there was applause and Lord Padraig came forward smiling to offer a hand she took with renewed surprise.

            “Thank you, Lady Knight. That was a most tactful lesson before your impressive display. I felt the difference at once—like staffwork, really. I should have guessed for myself what I was doing wrong.”

            She smiled as she mopped face and hands. “I had it beaten into me for years, my Lord, by old Naruko at the Imperial Palace.”

            “That’s what I wanted to ask about, actually. All three girls starting this year specifically asked about glaive training, with their parents’ support, and I saw a fine display, like yours just now, from one of the Yamani delegation who came for the Princess’s wedding, so I know what a good weapon it can be. It’s interesting—staff, stabbing spear, and sword all in one, but unlike any of them. The problem is we don’t have anyone who can instruct. The King has written to the Emperor requesting teachers to train up our own but it’ll be spring before they’re here. We _do_ have practice weapons, though few live ones yet, so I wondered if you might introduce the pages to the basics in the next few days, and make sure they’re started right.”

            Extremely pleased with flexibility in thinking she hadn’t expected—and for which he’d never been known—Kel agreed at once and they arranged for her to come to the pages’ practice courts the following afternoon. Then sparring began, partners regularly swapping so Kel found herself paired successively with Uline, who grinned widely and offered congratulations between blows, a Queen’s Lady she didn’t know whose defence was ragged, and Thayet before finishing with her mother, by far the best match for her but without Kel’s strength or reach. Time flew as practice absorbed attention and she was sorry when Thayet called a halt, groaning and arching her back.

            “I’m getting old. Practice never used to feel like this.”

            “Nonsense, Thayet. I can give you fifteen years. You just ate too much at that shindig with the ambassadors last night.”

            Thayet laughed. “Guilty as charged, Ilane. The food was excellent and why you didn’t stuff yourself too I can’t imagine. Keladry, your mother said you wanted a word with Shinko and me so I’ve laid on breakfast in my rooms, if that’s alright.”

            Kel walked with her mother behind the royals, telling her Lalasa was being courted and relaying news about clothing and the plan to finance women who needed only a start to get businesses up and running. Thayet and Shinko had been chatting about court gossip and switched attention to the conversation behind them when they caught its gist, continuing to quiz Kel over the table. Though distracted by some astonishingly flaky crescent-rolls, as light as she’d ever tasted and entirely delicious, Kel was happy to answer, adding information about Lalasa’s self-defence classes entering a second generation, with the best of her first pupils acting as instructors to cope with demand. Thayet theatrically struck her forehead.

            “Keladry, that’s superb, and I’m an idiot. After the Chamber exposed that disgusting Vinson and I discovered how the Palace maids were being harassed I came down on the senior housekeepers like a ton of bricks, so I hope things are better but I’m not kidding myself I solved the problem. Jon and I subsidise the Temple of the Goddess to run patrols in the lower city and do what they can to aid and deter, but that’s only a drop in the ocean. Teaching women to defend themselves, and mark any attacker, that’s a real step.”

            Kel nodded. “Now there are more instructors available why don’t you require all female Palace staff to attend classes? They’d have to go in rotation but I’m sure Lalasa would be glad to help and a royal imprimatur would bring more lower-city women in too.”

            Thayet hit her forehead again. “Twice an idiot—that’s a deal, Kel.”

            Remembering her curiosity, Kel asked what had happened to Vinson at his trial, and Thayet scowled.

            “He was found guilty right enough—with bruises and cuts still appearing randomly all over him and his confession on impeccable record no-one was defending him. Turomot sentenced him to five years in the mines as well as fining Genlith _very_ heavily for trying to bribe him, so _that_ was right too. _And_ he gave the fine to the Temple of the Goddess, the upright old coot. But while Vinson was being transported north the party was attacked. Three guards and two convicts were killed, and he was taken—or freed. Jon and I are sure Genlith or Stone Mountain hired it done but we can’t prove anything and he’s not been seen since.”

            “Oh.” Disturbed Kel nevertheless took the opportunity. “That’s ill news. And it connects with what I wanted to tell you all. Well, not wanted, but feel I should. Is this safe from eavesdroppers? It’s really _not_ for anyone else’s ears.”

            “It can be. A moment.” Thayet disappeared into an adjoining room, returning with an elaborately set ruby on a golden chain fastened round her neck. “It’s spelled to mask conversation from more than a few feet away—a present from Kaddar that’s proved very useful.”

            Kel imagined it had. “Thank you.” She took a breath and looked at her mother. “The thing is … well, I met the Goddess recently, through Alanna, and she told Alanna I might need to tell someone about this—publicly, I mean—and if I swore it by gods’ oath she’d make sure it was upheld. I can’t imagine why I’d want to tell anyone at all, but Alanna didn’t think she’d spoken idly and I wouldn’t for the world have any of you learn this unexpectedly or by report. So I have to make sure you all know but _please_ don’t tell anyone else unless it happens, especially Papa.”

            Ilane’s Yamani mask in place; so was Cricket’s while Thayet was frowning at mention of the Goddess.

            “Alright, Kel. I have a feeling I’m not going to like this one bit, but that’s reasonable. What is it?”

            Kel decided shock tactics were best. “Back in September, not long after you left New Hope, we were attacked—a mage and seven tauroses went after an outlying group cutting hay down the valley and killed both guards and five of the six farmers. I wasn’t far away with two guards and between us we killed the mage and six tauroses, but my guards were down—one dead, the other out cold—and there was the seventh tauros. It unhorsed me, and, well, you know what tauroses do. But then, and I swear this is true—I died.” It sounded ridiculous even to her and Ilane’s eyes were huge. She hurried on. “I met the Black God and he was very kind to me before his daughter healed me and sent me back, because the tauroses had been touched by Uusoae during the Immortals War and Lord Mithros and the Great Goddess wouldn’t allow her interference to have any effects they didn’t like.” She looked at Thayet’s shocked face. “Daine said that made sense, and I believe the King knows the story so I hope you do too.”

            The Queen nodded, tight-lipped. “You _died_ , Kel? From the tauros?”

            “I’m afraid so. And was sent back, very much alive again. Peachblossom was mortally hurt as well, hind leg in smithereens, but Daine managed to heal him though he’s had to retire as a warhorse. And there’s one more thing, because the Hag’s healing wasn’t, um, very satisfactory and that’s why Alanna called the Goddess who did heal me properly, um, everywhere and I promise you I’m fine now. I swear I am.”

            She made the gods’ circle as she spoke and chimes sounded softly with the Goddess’s hounds behind. All her listeners started, Shinko paling even further and Thayet looking around in wonder.

            “Was that other noise…?”

            “The Goddess, yes.”

            The next few minutes were emotional, Ilane and Shinko hugging her repeatedly with most unYamani expressions despite Kel’s protests that she was fine, and while yes, she had been dead for some very short time, she wasn’t any more and was thoroughly healed. Over their heads she made a mute appeal to Thayet, watching with a frown and tears in her eyes, but the queen shrugged and opened her hands eloquently: if Kel would drop such anvils into conversation she must expect to be hammered. Ruefully Kel agreed but after a while managed to ease her mother and Cricket back, feeling with some pleasure a sparking irony as she managed—in practice clothing—to produce a clean handkerchief for them to dab their eyes; Thayet had already used a napkin.

            “Well, I can see why you don’t want your papa to know, sweeting. He’d have fifty kinds of fit, even with you alive and well in front of him. Was it … was it very bad, dearest?”

            Kel wasn’t going to start lying at this stage. “Yes. I was pretty much unconscious at the time but the dream memories were vile, and I was in a bad way for a while—frozen inside and very snappy with everyone. But Lord Gainel helped, waking me from bad dreams and sending nice ones—being a child in the Islands, Cricket, full of laughter with you and Yuki, though I couldn’t remember about what. Then the Goddess healed me properly and they’ve stopped.” She considered her mother carefully. “I really don’t want to say more but if you have to know ask Alanna. I’ll tell her it’s alright to speak to you. But please don’t—details don’t matter and it’s over.” She took a breath and added a truth she’d recognised on her journey south, offering a crooked smile. “It was what you might call a learning experience and I’ve learned a lot—though there’s still one mystery no-one’s solved and that’s the stormwings.”

            “Stormwings?”

            The voices were in unison and Kel explained the strange business of the tauroses’ heads, ending with the familiar litany of Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle, which she was beginning to think more inspired than she’d realised; it was certainly useful, and all three women’s hands leaped to their mouths, as Lalasa’s had done at the news of Wyldon dancing. Ilane was the first to recover.

            “Kel, sweeting, if it’s taught you that kind of resilient self-mockery I almost have to be grateful—you’ve always been earnest to a fault. But gods, love, I wouldn’t have had you learn it this way for the world.”

            Thayet nodded fierce agreement but had a probing question. “Was it really just the tauroses having been chaos-touched, Keladry? You didn’t say the other dead  were sent back too.”

            “No it wasn’t,” Kel confessed. “As best I understand that was the main reason but the Goddess said they’d seen some future she wouldn’t describe where I do something that matters to them and plays in.”

            “Connected with Irnai’s prophecy?”

            “What prophecy?” Ilane’s voice was sharp as she looked between her queen and her daughter.

            “Oops.” Thayet shrugged. “Sorry. I forgot Ilane didn’t know.”

            Though dismayed Kel shrugged—it had been bound to come out sooner or later—and told her mother what Irnai had said so surprisingly during her verbal report.

            “It’s all so inconclusive. Numair says prophecies almost always are.”

            “Jon hates them.” Thayet frowned again. “But it does seem you’re going to face something at New Hope.”

            “Yes, I think so—it’s why I’ve driven hard to make it as impregnable as I can. Mama, I know it’s worrying and you have to tell Papa, but please remember I’m behind the best fortifications between Northwatch and Frasrlund and we’re on guard against everything.”

            “It didn’t stop that tauros.” Ilane’s voice was mild; her eyes weren’t.

            Kel shrugged again. “True, but I can’t stay in my room for the rest of my life. If I’m to die in battle I’ll die fighting all the way.” Seeing her mother’s face she added something she hadn’t meant to. “And I have the Black God’s promise that all the people I’ve sent to him myself won’t speak against me before his judges. I hope it’s a long time away, but if it’s tomorrow I’ll be at peace. Oh, and Th—Your Majesty, the—”

            “I prefer Thayet, Keladry. I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

            “Then it’s Kel. Thayet, the Goddess said the children Blayce murdered are specially cared for by the Black God and contented in the Peaceful Realms. The other tauros victims too. I though you might want to have that proclaimed—about the children I mean—though I’d much rather you didn’t mention me. It’s another sign of how the gods regard necromancy and I don’t think Alanna would mind being named as the source. It’s her the Goddess told, when I was sleeping after healing.”

            Thayet nodded sharply. “Yes, that’s good. I’ll talk to Jon and Alanna. Since we made the proclamation accompanying your report that explained about that vile mage and the killing devices I’ve heard real anger and disgust about the children. We had a killing device put on show, did you know? So people will be glad to be reassured about that.” Her face took on a different look Kel couldn’t interpret. “Forgive me, Kel, but you’re constantly surprising me these days and I’m not the only one. You’re so … well, frankly, unschooled in politics you can condemn yourself out-of-hand when it’d be madness for Jon to take offence, but then come up with something like this—and what you said about Lalasa’s classes and training Palace women—that’s politically very smart indeed.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Thayet.” Ilane’s voice was dry. “Just imagine a good diplomat’s self-effacement with romantic chivalry and warrior stoicism behind it instead of cold calculation, then throw in an oversize dollop of heroism and being the youngest of nine. Do you wonder the gods are watching as intently as all of us?”

            “Not really. That makes sense, Ilane. Very Mindelan sense.”

            Kel didn’t know where to look and glared at her mother wrathfully. “That’s … that’s …”

            “Entirely true, sweeting? You’ve taken the best of your papa and me and added something all your own. Several somethings, actually. Do you have the slightest idea how formidable a woman you’ve become?”

            Kel’s annoyance turned to confusion and the conversation ran down gently, though she was still dismayed by the look on Shinko’s face and when the royals had to leave took care to hug her again, promising time soon to talk—not least about Yuki. When maids came to clear the table her mother towed her out to the Queen’s Garden where a sheltered bench afforded privacy and clasping her hands painfully made her go through what had happened with the gods again. Kel saw no reason to detail the Hag’s grey flesh or the state she’d got herself into believing it mockery, and even with her mother shied from the embarrassing intimacies involved, but did relate what the Black God had said and added that she’d seen his face. Stunned and big-eyed again, her mother once more had to borrow her handkerchief before smiling weakly.

            “Oh sweeting, I don’t know what to say. What can I say? I’m horrified by what you’ve been through and so relieved you’re alive and don’t have any idea what to make of these things the Black God said. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

            “It doesn’t happen often.” Kel relayed Quenuresh’s comment.

            “You talked to that _spidren_ about it?”

            “She killed the last tauros, Mama, and got it off me, so she was there when I … came alive again. She was very helpful, cloaking me when I wasn’t decent and helping with Peachblossom until Daine got there.”

            “Then I owe her a debt I can’t repay.”

            “I doubt she sees it like that but I’ll tell her, if you like.”

            “Please do. Perhaps we can make a deal with spidrens at Mindelan or something.” Ilane’s eyes sharpened. “So poor Peachblossom’s not fit for work anymore? I’m sorry—I know how you love that horse, for all his terrible temper. Did you ride Hoshi south?”

            “I’ll miss him horribly on the battlefield but he’s not too bad. He’s so smart I’ve given him the run of New Hope and he does rounds inspecting sentries.” That brought the expected laugh. “And no. I didn’t ride Hoshi, I have a new horse—Alder. He’s in the stables here.”

            “A warhorse? Where did you get one in the north?”

            “Wyldon gave him to me.” Kel blushed as her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I haven’t had a chance to thank him yet, but he and Owen should be here soon. Owen told me he didn’t want me to be without a gelding but said something wise too, I thought—that it was what Wyldon _can_ give. He’s apologised to me about the probation thing, twice now, but he … well, we both find that sort of conversation difficult, and I think this is his way of making up for doing something he thought was right at the time but now thinks a mistake.”

            “Maybe, Kel, love—I can see him doing something like that. And I’m relieved you’ve a good warhorse—the ones he breeds are fine animals—but it’s a remarkable gift all the same.”

            “I think he feels guilty about what happened, Mama. Gods know he’s no reason to, but it was … on his watch, I suppose he’d say.”

            “I understand that—I feel the same and so will your papa if he finds out. Still, I think there’s more to it, Kel. It’s a father’s gift more than a friend’s.”

            “Perhaps.” Kel wasn’t comfortable with this at all, though oddly she thought she might have been if she were talking to Yuki or Shinko. “He taught me a lot and still does, so his good opinion matters to me more than anyone’s except yours and Papa’s and Raoul’s.”

            “Mmm, I realised that long ago, sweeting. Mind you, it had to matter given the position you were in.” Ilane hesitated. “Did he advise you about petitioning the Council? I wondered—we thought you’d made a very smart move there—Duke Gary told us about the notice you sent and the documents that followed, not long after we got your letter. I think it’ll sail through, but did you know Tirrsmont is in town? He was refused accommodation at the Palace, much to his fury, but he’s taken rooms at that big inn near the Provost’s House and there’s talk he’s going to make a formal claim for New Hope as well as a complaint about you not being servile enough for his taste.”

            Kel’s eyes went hard. “He can claim and complain all he likes. He was pig-rude and had no authority anyway. Do you know what he wanted from New Hope, apart from owning it? Miners to hack him out silver, even though the mines are closed and he refused the miners shelter when they had to flee their homes. Vanget, Wyldon, Raoul, Alanna, and Ennor of Frasrlund are all dead set against him getting another inch of land, let alone New Hope, so he can whistle for it.” A mark dropped in Kel’s mind. “Has Conal been drawn to him?”

            “Oh yes, like a moth to flame.” Her mother’s voice was tight. “Was that what you had words about yesterday?”

            “More or less. He told me I wouldn’t get away with insulting Tirrsmont. Oh, and that my ‘Scanran bastard’ was a disgrace.” Anxiety assailed her. “What do Anders and Inness think? Or Orie and Adie?”

            “Don’t worry, love. Anders and Inness were fine, Patricine was interested, Avinar thought it a virtuous thing, as he would, and your sisters seemed to think it just like you to graduate from stray animals to stray children.” Ilane smiled, warmth breaking through worry. “Which it is. Only Conal fussed, blethering about reputation, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t know where we went wrong with that boy, and though I don’t like to say so of any child of mine he’s not grown into a nice man. It’s no wonder he’s unmarried still, though he’ll turn thirty next year.”

            Kel shrugged. “He hasn’t changed in all the time I’ve known him, Mama, so I can’t see you or Papa did anything wrong. He was a bully then and still is. Some people are. I can stay away but I won’t have him insulting Tobe—he had enough of that sort of thing before I met him.”

            “Don’t you dare stay away, love—if Conal can’t be civil _he_ can stay away. He’s no pleasure to talk to these days—one complaint after another about how we’re going to the dogs. It’s rubbish.”

            “Well, so’s Tirrsmont.”

            “Yes he is, but I can’t help remembering how his son tried to kill you and claimed his lance slipped. Take care, Kel, even here. Especially here.”

            Kel promised but was uncomfortably reminded of Zerhalm’s words at the council, thinking ruefully that she _had_ relaxed vigilance. Parting from her mother with promises to come with the children again once Adie and Orie arrived, she walked in the gardens a while, thinking hard, then went to find Numair. He was not long up and tousle-haired, hunched over breakfast, but smiled and offered a seat.

            “I hope you don’t mind, Kel, but I sent Kitten to take up your offer of playing with the children. She’s so _chirpy_ in the mornings and I’m not.”

            Kel grinned. “That’s fine. I can’t be with them all the time and I expect Kitten’s missing her ma. Actually, she’s probably a protection for them and that’s what I wanted to ask you about.”           

            “A protection?” His gaze sharpened as she explained her concerns.

            “I know it seems unlikely, but I promised Zerhalm and my Mama to do all I can. And one thing I’ve started to realise about politics is that people do the same things all the time, even if it didn’t work before, so I can’t help remembering what happened to Lalasa. I can take my chances but Tobe and Irnai can’t, so I wondered if you could do magical protections—my windows and door, and I don’t know if it’s possible but if there’s anything that could help locate them if something happens …”

            “It may be unlikely, Kel—I can’t see who’d do that—but it’s good thinking. It’s always better to prevent something than have to try fixing it after. I can certainly spell your rooms so only you and the children can enter without invitation, and if you keep safe a lock of each of the children’s hair I could locate them . Mmm. There’s also … wait a minute.”

            He went to his workroom and came back with three slim bracelets set with a dull green stone. “Here. Put the largest one on.”

            Kel did, Numair muttered words under his breath, and to her surprise the bracelet vanished, though she could still feel it.

            “No-one need know it’s there, but make sure it’s clear of your sleeve when you’re going to eat or drink anything—within a few feet of anything poisoned the stone will flash.” He grinned without humour at the look on Kel’s face. “I made them for us when we visited Carthak. I can put the others on the children and hide them when I do the room. Poison’s not likely, maybe, but it’s a political weapon, and a coward’s, and none of the likely villains are going to want to challenge you openly so it’s possible they’d try something like that.”

            Kel was grateful, poison never having crossed her mind, and once Numair had finished his food they went to her rooms. Kitten was happily making individual stones in the walls light up, flashing colours in complex patterns, with an avid Tobe and Irnai applauding, but after discovering why Numair had come wanted to watch his magic. While he set about spelling windows, chimneys, and outer door Kel gave the bracelets to the children, explaining how they worked, and took clippings of their hair which she put safely away. Returning, she saw wide eyes and squatted.

            “It’s just being careful, you know—I’m not expecting anything like that, really. But do you remember the man who came to the gate wanting to take our miners? The Lord of Tirrsmont? Well, he’s here, still angling to get New Hope for himself, and that’s not going to happen so he might be stupid enough to try something else. And six years ago someone who wanted to hurt me kidnapped Lalasa so I want to make sure you’re both safe. We’ll also get you each a good beltknife so you have something with bite if you need it.”

            That cheered Tobe up though Irnai looked doubtful. “The god hasn’t warned me of anything.”

            “Good. I hope she would, Irnai, but it doesn’t do to count on it. And the gods like us to make an effort, I think.”

            Irnai nodded, face clearing. “Yes. When the god warned me about the Kinslayer I had to hide, for ages sometimes. And when she told me to go to Rathhausak she said to travel by night and hide during the day.”

            “That’s the sort of thing, yes. This is the same. I don’t want you worrying, just being careful. Being with Kitten’s good too—she has magic _and_ sharp teeth, and no-one in their right mind would take a chance of hurting her. Now, I’m sorry I was away so long—a meeting dragged on and then I had to see Numair. Have you had breakfast?”

            They hadn’t, so once Numair had spelled bracelets into invisibility, which pleased both of them, they went to the day kitchen and once they’d eaten set about errands. Kel took them to meet as many senior Palace servants as she knew and could find, including Salma and the duty officers of the Palace Guard, so they knew people who could help them and were themselves known. After that, deciding the crowds, if they formed, had to be endured, she took them to the Temple District to make offerings to the Goddess and Lord Mithros for their safety while she gave thanks for her healing. Then they headed to an armourer on Palace Way, less expensive than Raven Armoury but used to dealing with pages and with a better stock of weapons for smaller hands; with Alanna’s gifts Kel had never needed to buy from him herself but had been with others, and he’d never been less than gravely polite, seeming not to notice her gender.

            There were smiles as they were recognised but the fuss the day before seemed to have got it out of people’s systems and Kel was able to smile back with reasonable cheer. She nevertheless found herself newly conscious of vulnerability to a crossbow bolt from some hidden spot and her shoulders itched, but she could hardly put the children in mail or wear it herself on everyday business; she did however make a mental note to get three good buff jerkins that might turn a blade. The armourer was as polite as ever, greyer than she remembered, and dealt with the children well, making them jab with several knives before advising which he thought best-suited. When she asked about jerkins he was able to produce some that had sheets of an astonishingly light metal between tough outer leather and a thin inner layer, with warm linings.

            “The metal comes from Carthak, my Lady—a fruit of the Princess’s marriage. It won’t stop a full blow with a real weapon or a bolt at close range, but with the leather it’ll stop most daggers and arrows short of a needlehead. I’ve the smaller ones because a noble ordered them for his children but decided he’d go for full chainmail without telling me, so I’d be glad to move them, to be frank. And we keep a range in adult female sizes and cuts—they’re becoming quite popular with the ladies who do proper weapons training as a safeguard that’s lighter than mail.”

            Kel took them at once with one for herself and after a moment’s thought the largest they had, for Numair as a Midwinter gift—even exposed on alures or battlefields he never wore mail, relying on magic, but she thought he might accept one of these and that Daine would be happy. Pleased, she had the children put theirs on, with belts to hang their knives from, and donned her own. When the armourer presented the bill she discovered a generous discount and turned in protest.

            “You’re robbing yourself, Master Randall. This can hardly cover costs, never mind any profit. I’m happy to pay properly and I should.”

            He raised eyebrows. “Wonders never cease—a noble wanting to pay _more_ than I ask?” He shook his head. “No, my Lady, I’ll not take a penny more. My children are grown but I have a father’s  care, and I knew about the killing devices and how they sounded when slain, so I rejoiced when I heard you’d killed the necromancer. It’s my honour and pleasure to serve you, and the horse boy and seer who helped you.”

            The cynical voice Kel didn’t like told her Master Randall might be making shrewder calculations, about benefits for business of serving the people’s present darlings, but she thought him sincere and reluctantly accepted. To salve her conscience she made a more expensive plunge, still at discount, and ordered a complete set of scale-armour barding for Alder in the Carthaki metal—shaffron, crinet, peytral, flanchards, crupper, and protection for reins, omitting only caparisons for which she had no use or taste and weren’t an armourer’s business anyway. Cost aside, she’d never used barding for Peachblossom or Hoshi because in iron the weight was so great the horse was slowed, unable to rear and soon exhausted, but lighter metal would offer considerable protection for less disadvantage, and for skirmishing should serve well.

            They left Alder in the armourer’s stables to be measured, with the children’s horses for company, tipping the ostler to see to them, and Kel took the children on a whirlwind tour of the main shopping area lower on Palace Way, buying Midwinter gifts and helping Tobe choose things for her parents and sisters, and both children tokens for Alanna, Daine, Numair, and Kitten. It all added up, and their final visit, to the goldsmith to authorise Lalasa’s withdrawals and payments to the armourer and shopkeeps sending purchases to the Palace made her feel better, though the sum hardly dented the balance her frugality and Lalasa’s tithing had built up. Tobe’s eyes widened as he saw the goldsmith’s obsequious respect and heard the sums involved, and outside he looked at her with that old man she thought she’d driven away in his eyes.

            “I didn’t know you were so rich, Ma. Alvik woulda killed for a hundredth of what you have.”

            Nonplussed, Kel shrugged weakly. “Would he, Tobe? More fool him. It _is_ a lot, I know, far more than most people have—it’s because of what Lalasa gives me from her shop and money I won jousting when those stupid conservatives would insist on challenging me because I was a girl—but there are plenty of people with more, not just nobles. My Papa taught me a lot about how money works, and so did Sir Myles—Alanna’s da. You haven’t met him yet, but you will. You’ll like him, I think—he’s fun, though he sometimes drinks too much.”

            The moment passed, to Kel’s relief, but she added money matters to her list for Tobe’s education and wondered if it should go on the New Hope school curriculum; Idrius Valestone had been dealing with barter and principles of stock-keeping and accounting, but straight talk about finance would be a good thing all around. Meanwhile, the children’s stomachs agreed with her own that they’d earned lunch, and feeling safer with the jerkins, and the reticence of people who smiled as they passed but didn’t interrupt, she took them to a stall in the Daymarket that served the best meatrolls and bubbly pies in Corus; and afterwards on a tour of the city walls. It produced meetings with two gate captains and many of the duty watch, and in her mind safety points racked up; when they eventually collected the horses and headed back, weary and satisfied, Kel felt she’d redeemed her promises as far as she could. Any assault was more likely to be aimed at her than the children, and to be verbal or legal rather than physical, but she’d covered all possibilities she could think of and with Numair’s help one she hadn’t. Not even the gods could ask more.

           

* * * * *

 

As Midwinter neared Kel’s days fell into a routine. After glaive practice at dawn and breakfasts with Thayet and Cricket, she took the children to eat and spent mornings with them, in lessons or showing them around and introducing them to friends. Tobe ingratiated himself with Onua and Stefan Groomsman and spent afternoons learning horselore, while Irnai, doubtful at first, found she liked an elderly seer Numair took her to see and usually went to the old man for tea; both became thick as thieves with Kitten, to Kel’s and Numair’s mingled relief and consternation. Kel spent afternoons with the pages, training with the Own, or in the Palace Library, carefully checking legalities of fief-grants and claims for extension; she sought one of Turomot’s senior clerks for instruction in the complexities of what happened when military regulations, statute law, and noble privilege clashed. She also had a long morning with Shinko.

            Her initial glaive session with the pages, among them a pleased Lachran grown out of all recognition and two girls she recognised from those who’d talked to her after seeing her joust, had been a spectacular success. After showing her live weapon and starting them on a pattern dance that contained all the basic moves she’d asked Sergeant Ezeko to get a cheap training sword and similar axe and run through the most efficient ways in which glaive could defeat swords. Then she’d gathered the pages by eye and tried to make her voice unthreatening but intense.

            “And that’s just basics. I _know_ the pattern dances seem boring, but there is _no_ substitute in building skill and balance. And you’re lucky—you’ll have them built into training. I did mine as extras, before dawn every day. I still do most dawns, with Her Majesty and Princess Shinkokami, who is _very_ good, I warn you. Sergeant Ezeko, if you’ll trust me, would you try attacking for real for a moment and let me defend?”

            She knew Ezeko’s style well, and when after a few moments of right-side thrusts and sweeps he suddenly switched left, angling his blade in at her stomach she was ready and perfectly positioned to bring her glaive down hard. The rippled Yamani steel cut straight through the cheap metal of the training sword, and a twist of her wrists brought the blade to rest on his chest as he hastily stepped back. Politely she picked up the severed blade and handed it to him.

            “The Yamanis make _good_ weapons—don’t ever think otherwise. Raven Armoury’s as good, not better. And the glaive has two ends. Sergeant, could you grab that axe and attack again, assuming you’ve stuck me with the point in the left shoulder, so I’m losing mobility in that arm, and close, using your superior strength against my weak side?”

            Ezeko looked glum but gamely did as asked, bearing down hard with his full weight and strength when she restricted her defence on the left side to simulate the effects of the injury she remembered all too well. Neatly she hooked his legs from under him and as he hit the floor, arms flying out to break his fall, brought the iron-shod butt of her glaive to rest on his forehead. After helping him up she turned back to the pages.

            “And _that’s_ how Stenmun Kinslayer died, the butt of this glaive breaking his skull right between his eyes. I cut his throat to be sure, but that was belt-and-braces. So remember your glaive has two ends. Hajikoru does. His _Fourteen Moonlight Dances with the Naginata_ is in the Palace Library, in a decent translation, and as good a basic text as I know for any weapon. You’ll find the language flowery but don’t be fooled—he makes _very_ good sense. Now, pair up and let’s see what you can all do.”

            Thereafter the session was something of a mess because everyone was enthusiastic, none more so than the girls whom Kel was careful not to favour but did give warm smiles and advice about using slow dances to strengthen muscle and improve balance. As their bodies developed they’d need to adjust their stances, especially if they turned out bigger breasted or narrower hipped than she was, but Eda Bell knew all about that. Afterwards Lord Padraig was extremely pleased.

            “You’re a natural teacher, Lady Knight—solid stuff to start, a demonstration to rivet all, and excellent interventions in the practice pairings.” He shook his head. “So many good knights are hopeless teachers it makes this job harder than I’d expected. But I’ll welcome you as often as you’re free, for glaivework or anything you fancy—tilting, perhaps? I saw you stay seated against Wyldon on Progress, when you were a squire, which I confess I’ve never managed. And I’ve heard squires who remember you—Mandash and Vikison Lake in particular—say you’re like butter with a staff. What was it Mandash said? ‘All smooth and no cowhairs’, I think.”

            Kel laughed. “He was quoting Iden. They came to me for help when they were first years and I was third. It was just stance and grip.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Sergeant Ezeko’s an excellent fighter, but he doesn’t always see basic problems like that.”

            “Or expects them to work it out for themselves, yes. I’ve noticed that, Lady Knight.”

            Taking a chance she put a hand on his arm. “I’d prefer Keladry, my Lord. Or just Kel, though I’ve not persuaded Wyldon to such levity yet.”

            His glance was keen and amused. “I wish you luck—he told me you were on first-name terms. And in that case, Keladry, it’s Padraig.”

            They parted with an invitation to Kel and the children to dine on the high table in the pages’ hall that evening—an event that gave her the strangest feeling but Tobe especially enjoyed, not only for Padraig’s unpatronising conversation about horses but the alacrity with which the pages stood when she entered and obvious excitement at her presence. It was, he told her afterwards, _proper_ given all she’d done for so many people, and after tucking him and Irnai in she retired to bed unable to distinguish embarrassed gratification from gratified embarrassment and almost wishing for the isolated ease of New Hope.

            There were interruptions to routine as people arrived. Orie and Adie were first, with husbands and children, and Kel took Tobe and Irnai to a family feast at her parents’ townhouse that went better than she’d expected. Conal stayed away, whether by choice or parental command she wasn’t sure, and her sisters showed a newly wary respect, as did their husbands, Meronec of Nond and Ortien of Hannalof, Lady Uline’s cousin. Meronec made it quietly clear that while his parents had been approached by Tirrsmont he’d seen his father’s letter from Lord Ferghal haMinch, as Ortien had seen his uncle’s. Vanget’s elder brother ruled the haMinchi clan and both brothers-in-law insisted _everyone_ knew whom they believed when it came to defence of the northern border. Half-flattered, half-irritated, and altogether loathing politics Kel thanked them but was better pleased that Tobe and Irnai got on with Lachran, released for the event, and highly amused when her nephew found himself co-opted into the familiar New Hope discipline of older caring for younger. Her sisters and their husbands were surprised, impressed, and relieved, and though Tobe and Irnai lacked the polished manners some thought important and had rougher voices—as well as Tobe his blond Scanran looks, making him stand out among them like a straw against earth—both were painstakingly polite to all adults and so clearly good-hearted that they made better impressions than they knew. Hearing surprised wifely whispers from her sisters Kel knew word would spread, and if she detested the inconsequential social rounds Orie and Adie seemed to live for she knew well what hurt and malice they could sow, and gave silent thanks on Tobe’s behalf.

            The following day Wyldon and Owen arrived, cutting it finer than intended because the snowstorm that brushed New Hope had been far heavier at Mastiff, making their journey very slow until Bearsford. The cold in the north had deepened sharply, Wyldon said, all thoughts of a mild winter vanquished by continuing heavy snowfall. Kel wasn’t sure if she was more relieved at the impediment to the enemy or worried by New Hope’s perhaps lengthy isolation, but she had thanks for Alder to give and did so directly, heightening both their colours.

            Owen, after greeting her with his usual exuberance, bounced off to find his father, and Wyldon tried to steer conversation away from his generosity to hers in helping Owen, who had, he said, been much calmer and properly determined since visiting her. Waving this away in turn Kel told him about the barding she’d ordered and at his surprise showed him a sample of the Carthaki metal she’d been given by the armourer. They fell into mutually congenial discussion about savings in weight against loss of strength, Wyldon dubious and Kel pointing out that while the metal could be pierced by a determined thrust at close range it would deflect anything short of that and, more importantly, give protection against arrow volleys at distance without slowing a charge; they both knew what kind of havoc those could wreak, not by piercing armour but by injuring mounts or making them stumble and pitch riders off. Wyldon wound up agreeing to see the barding when Kel took Alder for a fitting, and as she helped him tote bags to his rooms, not far from her own, she told him with shared enjoyment and irony about Padraig’s invitation and demonstrating her move against Stenmun at Sergeant Ezeko’s expense.

            She also received a brief letter from Dom that left her more worried than reassured. Besides thanking her for gifts and good wishes and asserting he was doing well he said next to nothing yet managed to suggest that however much better his leg his spirit was unhealed. Duke Baird had had a similar letter and was equally worried but didn’t see what could be done; the axe-wound had left Dom’s right calf very weak and even standing would be problematic, the leg liable to buckle, while riding an estate would be somewhere between painful and impossible. Distressed, Kel tried to think.

            “Can it not be braced?”

            “Perhaps, but I’ve known too many cases where the weight of the brace is a problem in itself, Keladry. Even in strong men it tends to cause such severe cramping in the thigh muscle that help standing isn’t worth the price. Chafes nastily, too. A cane is better.”

            Kel reached into her pocket. “Could you use this new Carthaki metal? It’s much lighter.”

            Baird frowned, weighing it in his hand. “This is the stuff in those jerkins? I see you have one. It _is_ light, isn’t it? Is it strong enough?”

            Kel explained how she’d learned about it, her barding, and her reasoning about weight. Baird’s eyes were intent as he thanked her, promising to see what could be done, and she left in better heart.

            The final arrival, on a horse borrowed from Raoul at Steadfast and accompanied by an escort, was Daine, and when Kel learned of it from an exuberant Kitten one morning she also learned the delay and mundane transport had been because the Wildmage was pregnant.

            _I shall have a brother or sister in May though Mama says she doesn’t want to know which._ Kitten’s mindvoice was a chortle.

            “May?” Kel did a quick calculation. “But she was shapeshifting after—is that possible?           

_Oh yes, but she wouldn’t have shifted if she’d known—she says it’s given the baby ideas and it keeps shifting in her womb. Wolf-shape, mostly, Mama says, but also bird-forms and once a river-horse. While it is still small it is just uncomfortable but when the baby gets bigger it might be very awkward._

            Kel stared, trying and entirely failing to imagine what it might mean to find yourself abruptly pregnant with a wolf-cub or a hundredweight of river-horse. “Is she alright, Kitten?”

            _Yes, but she is tired and I think she will be very grumpy._

            “Well, that happens. How did Numair take the news?”

            _He said he was beside himself with joy but there is still only one of him. I think he meant he was very happy._

            “He did. Will you tell them I’m delighted for them both?”

            _I will but Mama wants to see you. She said she had interesting news. And Kawit should be back from exploring the Forest today so you must meet her. She is very nice and does the best illusions of anyone._

            “She does?”

            _Yes. Opal dragons are best at illusions and she is very good. Even I could not tell when I met her but she has to try hard to fool me now._

            “Oh.” Wondering how this opal dragon would fare against a griffin Honesty Gate Kel asked when she should come to see Daine and was told anytime was good, so she left Kitten telling Tobe and Irnai about the animal forms her Mama liked best, interspersed with educational remarks, and went to find her friend. Far from being obviously tired Daine seemed full of energy, sheepishly accepted congratulations, enquired earnestly after Kel’s wellbeing, declaring herself fair relieved at the further healing from the Goddess, and complained at length that she hadn’t intended to get pregnant, tearfully adding how sorry she was that she wouldn’t be able to fly over Scanran territory when at any moment she might have to turn her lower half into a wolf or a river-horse. Kel hadn’t quite extrapolated that Tortallan intelligence would be severely crimped but hid dismay, knowing how much time and energy Daine had already sacrificed for her adopted country, and to Numair’s amusement produced yet another clean handkerchief.

            “It will be alright, magelet. You can magic some hawks and send them to meet the owls that gather information from the smaller birds.”

            Never having understood how the information-gathering worked Kel was fascinated, but Daine just scowled.

            “And what do the poor hawks do with themselves afterwards when just being hawks isn’t enough any more?”

            “Whatever they want, magelet. Their possibilities will be greater.”

            “Which the People don’t always enjoy, and you know it. Think of poor Brokefang. I gave him awful headaches.”

            “And saved his pack and Dunlath as a hunting-ground.”           

            “Mmph.”

            Wisely, Numair changed tack. “Tell Kel about Barzha and Hebakh.”

            Daine brightened. “That’s right, Kel—I’ve solved your stormwing mystery. When Lord Wyldon told me about it he described the stormwings you said talked to you after Haven—a Yamani-looking female and big-nosed male? That rang a bell because there were two like that in the Stone Tree Nation, Rikash’s flock, and I know their queen, Barzha Razorwing, and her consort Hebakh from Carthak and the Immortals War, so I looked them up. It _was_ the Stone Tree Nation who followed you to Rathhausak and back, and they _were_ protecting you on behalf of the children, as you thought—they were very impressed with you all round, actually, though they say you’re mean about letting them have enemy dead to play with.”

            “And the tauros heads?”

            “That was them too. They sensed the divine presences when you were first healed, Barzha said, as well as the deaths of many immortals and the mage and came to see what had happened. She wouldn’t tell me why they’d cleaned and returned the skulls but she will tell you, if you want. They’re roosting in the Royal Forest for the winter.”

            “Oh.” Kel frowned, not wanting in the least to meet stormwings but knowing she’d have to. “Did she say why they’ve not been letting themselves be seen? They never hid before.”

            “No, but I bet she knows about Irnai’s prophecy and is being very careful about the Greenwoods valley.”

            “How would stormwings know about that? Not many people do, and it hasn’t leaked.”

            Daine shrugged and Numair steepled fingers. “I can’t be certain, Kel, but I’ve read that if a true prophecy involves any immortal they will be aware when Shakith speaks through her Chosen. I’ve no idea if Barzha heard it herself or was told about it by a stormwing who did, though, or even if all stormwings heard it. You could ask her.”

            Kel steeled herself. “Alright. When?”

            Daine shrugged again. “Now, if you and the children are free—we should take them both. And I’d rather deal with stormwing stink before lunch than after.”           

            That was true so Kel reluctantly collected the children, Kitten bouncing and asking to come, made sure they were warmly dressed, and grabbed a pot of strong-smelling unguent that was useful when a summer battlefield had to be cleared. When they came to the paddocks which backed onto the Forest Daine warned the watchmen what would be happening while Kel dabbed the children’s noses and her own with unguent before offering it to Numair, who hadn’t known the trick and accepted gratefully. Daine also accepted, when she returned, but Kitten sniffed warily, sneezed, and indignantly refused, saying she’d rather smell stormwings than hurt her nose.

            “Is this a common thing, Kel?” Numair’s laughter was tempered by curiosity. “It’s made from a southern plant used in very small quantities in perfumery but I don’t recall seeing soldiers using it like this before.”

            “I learned the trick in the Own, from one of the sergeants when we had to clear bodies after an earthquake, and I’ve made sure we have some at New Hope. Latrine crews use it when the weather’s warmer.”

            “I bet they do.”

            Climbing the paddock rails they went across to the eaves to a point Daine chose, looking at available branches, and she closed her eyes.

            “They’re coming.”

            She tipped her face skyward and Kel heard wingbeats, gathering the children with an arm round each. There were half-a-dozen, steel wings glinting in the winter light, including the Yamani-looking female who cackled as she saw Kel. The sound was horribly familiar, but as the immortals perched and the backdraft brought a stench of ordure and rot Kel realised the glass-crowned queen and fidgety male beside her were very different propositions. They landed lower than the others and carried themselves with conscious authority, the queen’s face as regal as her gaze was piercing. Deciding proactivity was called for Kel didn’t wait for introductions but gave a bow, speaking as she straightened and put her arms once more around the children’s shoulders.

            “Your Majesty, I am Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, commanding at New Hope. These are Tobeis of Mindelan and Irnai of Rathhausak. The Godborn tells me you and your flock were responsible for guarding our return from Rathhausak, and for cleaning the tauros heads. May I offer you thanks for your aid and gift, but also ask why you gave it? It has caused much mortal confusion.”

            Barzha arched her eyebrows. “You are very direct, Protector of the Small, and unusually polite for a mortal. You also reek of godwork.”

            Biting back a retort about reeks Kel nodded. “So Quenuresh informed me. It is beyond my control but I am sorry if it troubles you.”

            Beside Barzha, Hebakh bated, sidling on the branch, but the queen took her gaze from Kel only to inspect the children. “It does not, but I have never met a mortal save perhaps Ozorne on whom so much of the timeway rests. The Godborn says you understand we treasure the young, and we too despise necromancy. The tauros skulls were tributes to your courage in saving so many from such a mage.”

            Hebakh sidled again, steel claws gouging wood. “If you’re going to tell her at all, tell her properly.”

            Barzha still gazed at Kel. “The form of the tribute goes back to an incident of the Godwars. The skulls of seven godslain dragons were mounted on a new way to Lord Mithros’s hall.”

            Kel didn’t dare look at Kitten but heard an indignant whistle. Barzha took no notice but obviously understood.

            “The dragons objected then too, filling the skulls with dragonfire so hot even a god who passes will be scorched to the bone. They are there still, and no god has taken that path in all the centuries since. We were struck by the number of tauroses, by nature solitary immortals, and by the Black God sending you back—the first mortal to whom he has done that in a very long time. _You_ placed the skulls on your roadway. Draw your own conclusions, Protector.”

            One part of Kel’s brain was confused, the rest spinning furiously. “The Black God said the tauroses were touched by Uusoae before her banishment. Lord Mithros and the Goddess would not permit her interference, and Quenuresh says disorder acted against their solitary natures. Will you tell me your conclusions, Your Majesty?”

            Barzha shrugged. “The timeway completes a spiral. Much that is old comes round again. None can do more than play the odds—even gods.”

            “Do you know of Shakith’s prophecy through Irnai, after Samradh?”

            “All stormwings heard it as it was made.” Barzha nodded to Irnai, as relaxed under Kel’s arm as Tobe was tense.

            “Is that why you have stayed away from the Greenwoods valley? And beheaded the tauroses at night, not soiling the bodies?”

            “Of course. Such a prophecy is not to be trifled with. Shakith did not mean we would play with the fruits only of a skirmish.”

            Kel’s gaze bored into the queen’s. “How do you know? The prophecy doesn’t say anything about that.”

            “True but irrelevant. The gods may like their stupid jokes but the timeway no more plays with irony than Uusoae. Shakith spoke from the heart of light. It will be no skirmish, Protector.”

            Kel knew it for truth and on instinct made a decision she’d been pondering since the skulls reappeared. “Will you hear an offer, then?” Barzha inclined her head. “Come openly to the Greenwoods. No mortal or immortal under treaty will offer harm, and while I live you will play with nothing dead there, nor slay anything yourselves, without my let. If there is anything practical you need of mortal or immortal, you will ask and within our reason and capacity we will answer.”

            Kel was aware of Numair’s mouth opening and closing like a fish’s but her attention was on the queen, whom she knew she’d surprised.

            “That is … an interesting offer, Protector. Would you add us to your immortal menagerie, like Ozorne?”

            Kel shrugged, puzzled. “I don’t know about Ozorne’s menagerie but I meant nothing like that. Will you call Dunlath a menagerie? Or tell Quenuresh I keep her as a pet? We deal fairly with one another and I strive to protect _all_ my people, of whatever shape, however I may as this timeway completes its spiral. Aren’t you doing the same?”

            Hebakh turned a malicious grin on his mate. “She has you there.”

            Barzha again ignored him. “Of course I am. Our numbers are yet low from our losses in the Immortals War.”

            Kel made a leap. “Then come to the Greenwoods. Know your young are safe there, that in need we will shelter and aid them. And if there is aught we can do to help in their bearing or delivery, we will. Forgive me, but I can’t help thinking a pair of hands might sometimes be of use.”

            There were wild cackles and Barzha bated, making Hebakh hop sideways. Her voice was iron.

            “And will a mortal healer or midwife tolerate our smell, Protector?”

            “You wash first, as best you can, and we’ll stick pegs on our noses if we have to, but if there’s a stormwing in labour or a youngling we can help, we will, by my word, who has seen the Black God’s face.”

            Kel didn’t know where the last words came from but they seemed right and Barzha’s face went very still.

            “I will think on it, Protector. When you return to New Hope, we will speak again. Now we must go.”

            She and Hebakh leaped from their branch, others following. The downdraft again drove stench and even Kitten wrinkled her snout; mortals found themselves with watering eyes and burning noses despite the unguent, and Kel blindly produced another clean handkerchief, giving Irnai and Tobe first use. They had just recovered when Kitten spun round with a squawk followed by a trill at once annoyed and happy. Kel stared but there was nothing to see—until air rippled to disclose a scaly, multicoloured creature eighteen foot long, standing twenty feet behind them with what Kel would swear was a smile on its enormous face.

            _I nearly had you, Skysong. Greetings, Godborn and Numair._ The mind voice was unlike Kitten’s, though what the equivalents of depth and timbre might be Kel had no idea, let alone of pleased good humour. Daine and Numair, who’d jumped at the creature’s appearance, nodded.

            “Hello, Kawit.”

            Kitten flicked her tail. _I was distracted by the stormwings._ There was a punch to the statement that told Kel everyone heard it.

            _Even so you should keep alert, though I grant they were being quite interesting. I did not know there is a new skullroad._ That _news will stir the Dragonlands._ The great head swung to look at Kel and the children, who realised the dragon had no wings. _Will you introduce your friends?_

            _Of course._ Kitten drew herself up, tail neatly over one arm, and her mindvoice became proudly correct. _Kawit, these are Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, and Tobeis and Irnai. Kel, this is Kawit Pearlscale, of whom I have told you._

            Huge eyes considered them, not infinite like the gods’ but with the depth of Quenuresh’s and Tkaa’s, only more so, and Kel knew Kawit was very old indeed. Shaking free from shock she bowed.

            “Greetings, ah, Mistress Pearlscale. It is our honour to meet you. Skysong has told us how much you have helped her.”

            Kawit seemed amused. _I have not been Mistress Pearlscale in many an age, if ever. Kawit is name enough in these realms. Greetings, and to Tobeis and Irnai. I see horse magic and Shakith’s gift in them, and much godwork in you, Protector of the Small. May I ask where that title came from? And what gods you have been meeting? I heard you say you had seen the Black God’s face, which he does not show._

            Kel was unsure of Kawit’s status but saw Numair nod and knew there wasn’t much point trying to conceal things from immortals. She squared her shoulders. “The name was bestowed by the elemental of the Chamber of the Ordeal. The rest’s a long story, Kawit, so perhaps we might go indoors if there’s somewhere that suits?”

            _Indeed. I have been granted use of a stableblock. It will be cold but I can warm it._  Her head swung. _Yes you may, Skysong._ Abandoning dignity Kitten scrambled up to Kawit’s back, and perched triumphantly where neck joined torso, trilling pleasure. _She loves to ride there. Would Tobeis and Irnai also like to ride?_

             To Kel’s surprise Irnai accepted immediately, climbing up with a boost from Numair. Tobe was less keen but wouldn’t be outdone and with Kel’s help settled behind Irnai. The dragon’s scent was musky dustiness, making Kel think of rock in the desert. As Kawit set off, spine swaying and making Tobe clutch at Irnai, Kel realised ostlers and other servants were gawking along the fence. Automatically she straightened, Yamani mask sliding into place, but realised wild rumours would soon be titillating those with a taste for them. There was nothing to do, and she wondered what else this strange Midwinter might hold besides the promised visit of far larger dragon. Numair came up beside her.

            “I was surprised by your offer to Barzha, Kel—we’ve no stormwing treaties, because they don’t attack the living. But things are changing, plainly, and the more I think about it the better it seems. It gives you an entirely legitimate edge with that wretched prophecy—my warmest congratulations for that—but this skullroad thing gives me the fidgets. I’ve never seen or heard anything so detailed about the Godwars.”

            “Do you know about this timeway?”

            “Not really, but seers say things like that. I think it’s because there’s only one past and present but thousands of possible futures, likely and wildly improbable—but some improbable ones do come to pass, and the timeway is where the futures that _will_ be… I was going to say join but it’s more like _collapse_ together, I believe. Akker, Irnai’s new friend, says he’s always thought of it like becks joining into streams and rivers until at the sea there’s only water. But as he tells it, until the last minute all the rivers are moving about and might split off again.”

            He grinned at Kel, whose head was aching as she tried to follow.

            “I told you prophecies hurt to think about. In any case, I was going to say I think I’d better come and see this skullroad myself.”

            “Of course, but you’ve seen the road, Numair—you built it! It’s just seven tauros skulls on the wall at the top.”

            “Even so.”

            Kel wished the tauroses weren’t attracting so much attention. Seeing them dead as a comfort to victims was one thing, having them echo something that had involved gods and dragons at war quite another. But her glumness was offset by a sense that with Queen Barzha she’d done something that mattered, placed another weight on her side of whatever scale it was that counted, and for now there was the radiant look on Tobe’s face as he realised he was riding a dragon.


	10. Worship

**Chapter Ten — Worship**

_17 December_

 

The Midwinter session of the King’s Council and the Queen’s Ball were both on the first day of festivities, and less than an hour after the Council started a messenger came to summon Kel and the children. They’d collected their finery from Lalasa the morning before, and other outfits—a working Mindelan tunic for Tobe, with black breeches, and a velvet dress for Irnai. Lalasa had done simple but striking embroidery on the jerkins so they looked less like protective garments, and even for this they wore them. She’d also trimmed hair and recommended a cobbler where Kel bought both children sturdy boots. Giving them a once over she nodded and they followed the messenger down the corridor.

            Kel had not been amused two days earlier to be summoned by His Grace of Naxen and told the children would be required.

            “Why in Tortall are they needed, Your Grace?”

            The Duke’s eyebrows went up. “The Council are interested in them.”

            “Interested? Or merely curious?”

            He smiled. “More the latter, I confess.”

            “Not good enough, Your Grace. They are _children_ , not toys.”

            The smile faded. “They have seen a great deal of concern to us, Lady Knight. As you mentioned in your report. The Council’s interest is not altogether idle.”

            Kel knew she wouldn’t win this argument though reason and propriety as well as kindness were on her side, and changed tack.

            “Can you tell me who will be present, Your Grace? I know the formal composition, of course, but not who is here. I am aware Lady Alanna holds the proxies of Lords Raoul and Ennor.”

            “Mmm, yes. Cavall holds Vanget’s, Padraig holds Ferghal’s, Numair holds Harailt’s, and the Wildmage holds Dunlath’s—Lady Maura was granted membership when she came of age last year, because of the treaty there.” Kel hadn’t known that and another reason for the grasping interest in New Hope clicked into place. “Baird’s here, of course, and Imrah, so besides myself, Myles, and Turomot—and your father, of course—there’ll be Blue Harbour, Disart, Haryse, Macayhill, Nond, Runnerspring, Stone Mountain, and Torhelm.”

            The last three names leapt at Kel and her Yamani mask stilled her face. “Runnerspring, Stone Mountain, and Torhelm are _all_ coming?”

            “Yes, of course.” Gareth looked at her uneasily. “Torhelm always attends and the others are wealthy fiefs, you know—before we come to your business there’re issues concerning port duties and the like they have considerable interest in.” He tried a smile. “Actually, I’m rather hoping that’ll go more quickly than it might because everyone will want to get to the main event.”

            Kel didn’t smile. “Be that as it may, Your Grace, you should be aware I have met my Lords of Runnerspring and Stone Mountain once each, and both were foul-mouthed in the extreme. For myself I might tolerate it. Before my son and Irnai I will not.”

            He stared. “Oh come, Lady Knight, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

            “Lord Burchard, whom I had never previously met, called me a bitch, a trollop, and a jumped-up merchant slut. He implied I was a murderer. It is true he had just learned of his son’s death in the Chamber, but I hear he continues unbalanced. Can you say otherwise?”

            Gareth looked shocked. “Well … no, I suppose not.”

            “Lord Carolan accosted me after a tilt during the Grand Progress, in company of his son and Sir Guisant of Torhelm, whose father I have never met. Sir Guisant told me I should be raped to death and thrown on the nearest midden. Sir Garvey and Lord Carolan laughed loudly, called me an upstart whore, and spat.”

            “Mithros!” Gareth was clearly appalled but Kel wasn’t impressed that the characters of those men came as news. “I knew they dislike the idea of female knights, of course, but I’d no idea they behaved like that.” Doubt came into his eyes. “I’ve never heard them speak so.”

            Kel’s voice was cold. “If you want corroboration of my word, Your Grace, I suggest you ask women. You might start with Alanna and the pages in training—I spoke to Fiannola of Linshart a few days ago about a verbal assault she suffered from Sir Garvey. He did not learn language and manners from his mother.”

            “Well, well. They are responsible for their own conduct, Lady Knight. _I_ cannot stop them.”

            “Then I suggest you speak to His Majesty. I tell you that _if_ they offer me insult, or either child whose presence you require, I will silence them however necessary and sort the rest out on the field of honour.”

            “Lady Knight! You cannot challenge a member of the Council!”

            Kel did not know it but her face went a dangerous white though her mask never wavered. “But _they_ can offer insult at will? Your Grace, if one of them said such things to your daughter, in your hearing, would you let it pass because it was during a Council session?” She might as well ask him if he were a poltroon. “No? Then explain why I must do so.” There was silence. “Very well. Now, is there anything else?”

            He shuffled papers. “Ah, yes, actually. Properly, your petition about New Hope should be heard at Imbolc, but Tirrsmont is here and there are those who want the matter heard while you can both speak to it.”

            “ _Those_ being the three lords we have just discussed?”

            “Not only them, but yes, Runnerspring pushed for it.”

            “And will His Majesty agree?”

            “He may. There is a certain logic. Should it come to a vote do you know who would definitely support you?”

            Kel had of necessity done this maths. “Alanna and both proxies, Wyldon, Daine, and Numair with theirs, Baird, and Padraig. I have not discussed Lord Ferghal’s proxy with him but he doesn’t care for Tirrsmont’s record defending land he already holds. Neither does Nond.”

            He looked surprised but she wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t expected her to be able to answer or hadn’t known her northern support was so strong. Her confidence in him fell further.

            “Huh. Then you have a majority. You have my support also. Macayhill _might_ vote with Runnerspring, Stone Mountain, and Torhelm, but I doubt Blue Harbour, Disart, or Haryse would.” He fiddled with papers again. “It is a curious petition, Lady Knight. The materials submitted clearly support your claim and I imagine that would pass as easily. Why not claim land and people alike and have done?”

            Kel’s anger faded into weariness. “I defend them, Your Grace, because they deserve defending and it is my duty. I don’t want to own them and I don’t want Tirrsmont or any other mercenary incompetent doing so either, especially while war threatens. We’ll have time enough to decide something as important as a new fief when Maggur’s dead.”

            “Hmm. Your appointment may be the best solution all the same.”

            “Not for anyone who actually lives there, Your Grace.”

            She’d left it at that and he had taken a deep breath. “There is also the matter of the Chamber of the Ordeal. The Council is aware of its, ah, role in sending you to Rathhausak. There’ll be questions.”

            Kel shrugged. “So long as they are civil, Your Grace. The elemental does as it will. None can change that.”

            He frowned. “True. But it’s all very irregular.”

            “So is necromancy.”

            “Also true. Still, the Council has been … exercised, shall we say? His Majesty also. And as you point out, it matters to Stone Mountain.”

            Kel knew it, and with considerable reluctance had spent the evening before the Council telling the children about members they hadn’t met and giving descriptions of Burchard of Stone Mountain and Carolan of Runnerspring. Now, as she and the children reached the doors of the Council chamber and saw them thrown back, she was braced against the need to defend the children.

            She was aware of Lord Burchard at once, pale faced and still, seated on the left of the open oblong of tables. He was flanked by Runnerspring and Torhelm, Macayhill beyond them and a space at the nearer end of that side. On the opposite table were Padraig, Wyldon, Lord Imrah, Nond, Daine, Numair, and Sir Myles. On the longer side away from her were King Jonathan and Thayet with Roald and Shinko, flanked on one side by Dukes Baird and Turomot, and on the other by Duke Gareth and Alanna, who rolled her eyes; in front of Kel was a wide gap, Blue Harbour and Disart on the left and her father smiling warmly at her next to Haryse on the right. There was a chair for her but nothing else and she reined in temper as she and the children bowed.

            Jonathan smiled greeting. “Welcome, Lady Knight Commander. Please be seated.”

            “Thank you, sire. Where should Tobeis and Irnai sit?”

            Torhelm, who looked like his son and had the same malice in his eyes, sat up from his slouch. “Children stand in the presence of their elders, and commoners in the presence of nobles.”

            She kept her voice even despite his insulting omission of any address. “Perhaps so, my Lord, but my son is not a commoner while Irnai is here because she is Chosen of Shakith. And both are here at the Council’s request for what may be a long meeting.”

            Torhelm sneered as she insisted on Tobe’s status and Thayet’s voice was sharp. “Of course, Lady Keladry—it was thoughtless of us. Your objections are uncalled for, my Lord.” She pulled a hanging cord and a side-door swung silently open to admit a palace steward.

            “Your Majesty?”

            “Bring stools for the children please, Erran.”

            “At once, Your Majesty.”

            It was only a few breaths before he returned and Kel wondered if it had been a test, sounding her response to indirect insult. Unthinking unkindness to the unimportant and stools the servants used themselves during their long waits seemed as likely. With the children seated she sat herself and the King invited her to give her account, voice dry.

            “Begin, if you would, with the vision given you by the Chamber of the Ordeal. Despite my own description concerns have been expressed.”

            Kel bet they had and the spasm that twisted Lord Burchard’s face told her by whom; but he said nothing while she narrated as clearly as she could her vision and recurrent dreams, then Rathhausak. She omitted the order she’d disobeyed, seeing approval in Wyldon’s eyes, and the smugglers—producing the first interruption, from Blue Harbour.

            “How’d you get across the Vassa?”

            Kel didn’t think The Whisper Man would care to be invoked, even here, but it went against the grain to lie. “Going north we obtained the use of boats, my Lord. Coming south, the army controlled the crossing.”

            “Use of boats, eh?” His look was shrewd. “Very well. Go on.”

            She did, but there were further questions from Imrah and Haryse, both experienced warriors, about the parties of Scanran soldiers they’d encountered, and how they’d been dealt with.

            Haryse looked grimly approving. “Hard when it’s like that. You did well to deal with the larger group. Not sure I understand about the horses, though—calling them, yes, but asking them to _wait_ for you?”

            “Tobeis has horse magic, my Lord.”

            “So’s my chief ostler, but he couldn’t do that.”

            “Tobe?”

            He leaned forward to address Haryse properly, face determined. “I didn’t _know_ they’d wait, my Lord, and if something scared them they’d have run off. But I asked and they agreed. They were hungry and the river meadows had good grass.”

            “Huh. No offence, but is the lad really that strong, Wildmage?”

            “It’s hard to say how strong he may become, but he’s stronger than Stefan Groomsman now.”

            Haryse whistled. “Is he indeed? You’ve a real talent, then, young Tobeis. Useful. Go on, Lady Knight.”

            Kel did, though the illusion and griffin-band generated questions and a digression into her standing order that they be worn by all at New Hope. The swift despatch of three killing devices also stirred questions, and for the first time Lord Carolan spoke.

            “You expect us to believe you killed three of those things in as many minutes?”

            “I shot one in its dome, my Lord, and the dog Shepherd snapped the shaft.” Did he understand why that mattered? “The broken end fell into the dome and the trapped spirit escaped through the hole. Fanche Miller and I shot another, and its own blades sheared the shafts. Sergeant Domitan’s squad immobilised the third with metal-cored ropes and he opened its dome with an axe.”

            “Two women and a dog killed two devices? It’s absurd.”

            Kel shrugged but Wyldon’s voice was crisp. “As you never faced one, Runnerspring, you’re hardly in a position to judge. Tell me, Lady Knight, how many devices have you personally slain? Besides them all, I mean.”

            Kel enjoyed the look on Lord Carolan’s face enough to make the embarrassment seem worth it. “Personally? Five.”

            “ _Five?_ ” Padraig’s surprise was evident.

            “One at Forgotten Well last year, two at Haven in the spring—Master Numair knocked one down with a ton of logs first—and two at Rathhausak.” She remembered the stumbling gait and confusion and frowned. “One of those was odd—slow and awkward.”

            Irnai’s voice was dreamy; her eyes were not. “It was a girl called Frenna. She was simple and halt but the Kinslayer took her anyway. It was Ostara day. She went to gather flowers and was gathered herself.”

            There was an ugly little silence before the King spoke gently. “I am sorry to ask, Irnai, but tell us how you came to be at Rathhausak.”

            The girl’s words were the same as during Kel’s first report—the goddess told her to hide and run, guided her, and told her about the Protector of the Small. Lord Burchard had been fidgeting and at that name slapped the table, eyes glittering.

            “The goddess said, the goddess did—anyone can say such things. And that idiot title could come from anywhere. You expect us to believe this rot, Mindelan?”

            _I am a lake._ “I first heard the title from the elemental of the Chamber, my Lord. And Irnai is chosen of Shakith.”

            “I expect you to believe _me_ , my Lord.” The King’s voice was cold. “ _And_ my Lord of Cavall, His Grace of Queenscove, General Vanget, and Master Harailt, as well as Lady Keladry. We all heard Shakith speak.”

            Beside Burchard, Torhelm’s face took on a cunning look. “You heard _something_ , sire. Who can say it is a god when only a girl speaks, and a foreigner at that? No-one heard all these other instructions.”

            “It was Shakith.” Baird’s voice admitted no doubt. “I once heard Isner of Pearlmouth prophesy in that same voice. And Irnai lit up as Shakith spoke through her. Her hair stood out. There was no mistaking it. If we know she has spoken through her once, why doubt the rest?”

            “She glowed when she dedicated Shakith’s shrine at New Hope. The same voice sounded behind the chimes. Shinko and I can attest it, with many others.” Roald looked at Kel.

            “Hawks in the distance.”

            “Yes, that’s it.” Baird nodded at once. “Someone else described it like that too, I think.”

            “Many people have.” Numair’s face was expressionless. “Shakith’s voice is consistently described in all countries as like a hawk or eagle screaming, which is what I heard. And all the sounds of the great gods’ voices seem at a distance behind and within their speech.”

            “Da says it’s because mortals couldn’t bear them otherwise.” Daine’s eyes were mischievous, irritation beneath. “There’s no doubt. The stormwings heard the prophecy and Kawit sees Shakith’s Gift in Irnai.”

            Torhelm laughed derisively. “The testimony of animals! Worthless!”

            “And am I such a worthless animal, my Lord?” The King’s voice was deadly soft.

            “I didn’t mean that, sire.”

            “Then what did you mean?”

            “Stormwings, some foreign dragon no-one can see half the time. _They_ add nothing.”

            Numair sighed. “You are talking of beings with millennia of experience, who have travelled and dwelt beyond the mortal realms and met the gods. Calling them animals is silly—they’re immortals.”

            “This Scanran tr—isn’t.’

            He’d bitten off the epithet but Kel was on her feet. “Lord of Torhelm, you stand against your King, your future king and queen, and six others here besides myself who heard Shakith’s prophecy or her voice at the dedications. Within the Court are another dozen at least who heard and saw. The Godborn tells you every stormwing heard the prophecy and a _dragon_ sees Shakith’s gift in Irnai. So does the spidren-mage Quenuresh. And though you swallowed obscenity directed at a child your tone insults one who has suffered and done more to save Tortallans than any of us can imagine. If you continue in this manner I shall remove my son and charge to fitter surroundings. Need I do so?”

            Torhelm’s face bulged and the look in Lord Burchard’s eyes was poisonous, but the King spoke first.

            “You need not, Lady Keladry. The subject of Shakith is closed, and we thank her for preserving Irnai, to our great benefit. Please sit and continue from your swift destruction of the three killing devices.”

            The atmosphere crackled but Kel complied, and the help they’d had from villagers in the desperate night attack gripped the genuine interest of the majority. She simply said she’d killed Stenmun and Blayce, omitting all detail save burning the workshop, and compressed their exhausting, nerve-racking return into a sentence. Then it was building New Hope with immortals’ assistance, and when Quenuresh came into it questioning became widespread. Only Lord Burchard and his allies were silent, full of disdain, and those who’d met the huge spidren were drawn in by those who hadn’t. To Kel it was old ground, and she knew only experience of _talking_ to Quenuresh would build trust; what did interest her was that Macayhill was listening intently and making notes. When the questions finally paused he leaned forward.

            “So at heart, Lady Knight, you _trust_ these spidrens.”

            “I trust Quenuresh, and have no reason not to extend trust to her kin. But as I said, she is ancient among her kind and a mage—she admits she is unusual, and warned the observer sent by His Imperial Majesty it might be impossible to make peace with younger spidrens.”

            “Yes, I spoke with Master Takemahou before he left.” Kel was surprised by his correct pronunciation and her concentration sharpened. “But you think _if_ communication can be established, and a treaty agreed, it will be kept?”

            “Without knowing the spidrens in question I cannot say, my Lord. Would you trust an unspecified mortal to keep his or her word? But I believe Quenuresh and her kin will keep the treaty, and have already observed it in full.” Kel wanted to avoid the whole business of the tauros attack. She knew the truth had not been given the Council, but at least five people present knew and she imagined Roald had been told something; in any case she couldn’t omit Quenuresh’s loyalty. “You know that in September we lost some farmers to a tauros attack? Quenuresh came at a run and killed the last—I heard her break its neck. She gave critical assistance afterwards, sensing the whereabouts of the survivor and helping save an injured warhorse until the Wildmage arrived.”

            “Helped how?”

            “It was down with a broken leg. She lifted its forequarters in webbing so it could drink.”

            “Remarkable.” Suddenly he smiled, making his narrow face much pleasanter, and she saw Lord Burchard scowl. “You give me hope, Lady Knight. We’ve had grave problems with spidrens at Macayhill.”

            Kel spoke carefully. “New Hope is of course under military authority but with permission from His Majesty or General Vanget you would be welcome to consult Quenuresh. She gave Takemahou- _sensei_ as much help as she could, and I believe would do the same for you if you ask.”

            He thanked her sincerely, giving her hope in turn, and Sir Myles owlishly asked Tobe and Irnai how they liked Quenuresh.

            “She saved Peachblossom, my Lord, so I owe her big. Liking’s neither here nor there.”

            Kel managed to still her smile, but Sir Myles didn’t.

            “You consider yourself honour bound to her, then?”

            Tobe shrugged. “We all are, by treaty. But I love Peachblossom so I am especially, I reckon.”

            “And you, Irnai? Has the god said anything about Quenuresh?”

            “She showed me futures with her helping us and told me not to be afraid of her, so I am not.”

            “Helping how?”

            “As she has already done, with webs and climbing.”

            Sir Myles looked at Kel, eyebrows asking the question. She felt reluctant to discuss New Hope’s defences but something was required.

            “We have spidren-web nets stored on our alures, Sir Myles, to cast down as needed. And we discover old webbing is perfect for sealing shutters against winter winds.”

            “Aid both military and domestic, then.”

            “Yes. One of her kin also assisted in exploring the cave system. A spidren can climb where we cannot.”

            The King came in briskly. “So all in all, Lady Keladry, you report that the treaty is working well, and has stood up in the face of Scanran and immortal attack. That is very good news and we thank you for undertaking the experiment. There remains a question about what Quenuresh might do if _other_ spidrens enter the Greenwoods valley, but that must wait on the event. Now, other matters.” He turned to Lord Burchard. “My Lord of Stone Mountain, you have repeatedly expressed concern about the elemental of the Chamber. I share your unease that it has behaved unusually, but it is plain it contributed significantly to killing the necromancer, for which all must be grateful, and I cannot see there is anything we can do whatever we feel. It does as it does and no man may command it. It was on this account you demanded we hear Lady Keladry and Irnai in person. Are you satisfied?”

            “ _Why?_ ” Burchard was staring at Kel and for the first time she saw grief as well as hate in his eyes. “Why choose _you_ , and kill my son?”

            She spoke as gently as she could. “I do not know, my Lord.”

            “But you have spoken with it, you conspire with it—”

            “I do not. It _chose_ me and filled my head with a vision of the Nothing Man’s horror—a score of children dead in a pile. It has said it expressed the outrage of the gods. What conspiracy can you mean?”

            “ _It killed my son!_ And sent _you_ of all people, who overset custom—”

            Kel cut off his rant before it could get going, trying to keep calm.

            “My Lord! Though Joren hated and sought to injure me I did not wish his death and have wondered often and long what happened in his Ordeal. I know you believe no woman should seek knighthood but the elemental has _never_ shared that opinion—a dozen people here have Lady Knights among their forebears. And I too am disturbed by its behaviour—it is _my_ life it has affected.” She took a breath. “Do you wish me to ask it why it killed Joren? I cannot promise it will answer, but I can promise to enter the Chamber a third time and ask.”

            “To _ask_ it …”

            “Yes, ask it. It is a being of great age and intelligence—you have yourself spoken to it once, if not in words. By my experience, it would not seek to test you again. Shall I ask it? Will you accompany me?”

            “You are serious, Lady Keladry?” She couldn’t read the King’s face. “You would enter the Chamber again to question the elemental?

             “I am, sire. It works _for_ us. Why should it seek our harm?”

            “Indeed. Well, Lord Burchard? I will second Lady Keladry’s offer, for I have thought for some while that I must myself speak with the elemental, if I can. Given your loss, it is only right that you join us.”

            “When?” Burchard’s voice was a whisper, his eyes almost blank.

            “This year’s Ordeals begin in three nights. Should it be before that, or after they are finished?”

            The question was open but Kel’s answer was instinctive. “Before, sire.” The King looked enquiry and her reason scrambled to catch up. “If there _is_ anything of concern we should know before committing others to Ordeals. I was the last squire to face it, last Midwinter, and to speak to it, at Imbolc. I … I feel we should not delay.”

            “Numair? You have tried to speak to it since.”

            “And was told to take myself off as it had no business with me. I have no opinion, sire, but I’d trust Lady Keladry’s instincts. From your account of it speaking through Irnai it recognised you and Kel by name, but no-one else, and she has had more dealings with it than anyone.”

            “Will I be safe?” Burchard’s voice was hoarse.

            Numair shrugged. “I do not control the elemental, Lord Burchard—no-one does or can. But while it has killed and injured squires other than your son there is no record it has ever harmed anyone not undergoing their Ordeal of Knighthood. I don’t see why it should begin now.”

            The King nodded. “Very well, then—tomorrow afternoon. Lady Keladry, please attend me for lunch beforehand. Lord Burchard, meet us in the Chapel of the Ordeal at the first afternoon-bell, if you will. So that is settled. Now, other matters concerning New Hope. Turomot?”

            The Lord Magistrate inclined his head. “Sire. Lady Knight Keladry, are you aware a complaint has been filed against you by the Lord of Tirrsmont, alleging that you wrongfully denied him access to land he claims and offered insult?”

            Kel’s mind became very cold and clear. “I was not, Your Grace, but I am aware of the incident to which I imagine Tirrsmont refers.”

            “Mmm. The complaint is irregular—it was presented only yesterday, and lacks supporting documentation.”

            “If I may, Your Grace?” Lord Carolan’s face was pinched with anticipation. “My Lord of Tirrsmont waits without, that he may give testimony and the gross insult he suffered be properly redressed.”

            Kel’s heart sank but Turomot was frowning.

            “It is not a complaint to this Council, Runnerspring, but to the court. No hearing here can be appropriate.”

            Duke Gareth intervened. “Entirely true, Your Grace, but there are two relevant petitions that would properly come before us at Imbolc, from my Lord of Tirrsmont claiming New Hope and much beside, and from Lady Keladry, asking all petitions for New Hope to become a fief and claims for it be set aside until the area is discharged from military governance. At the cost of some impropriety we might deal with all now.”

            “It is more than impropriety, Naxen.” Turomot was stiff but not outraged, and Kel thought this was all rehearsed.

            “True, but I do not suggest _you_ make a ruling of any kind here—only that the Council of necessity include Tirrsmont’s complaint in its deliberations. Of course, the outcome here is one you might properly consider in your own judgement.”

            “Very well.” Turomot inclined his head. “Lady Keladry, are you willing to agree that anything you may say here today be considered as evidence in answering this complaint? You are of course free to make additional submissions to the court.”

            “Entirely willing, Your Grace, and I do so agree. May I know the terms of the complaint?”

            “Of course.” He took papers from a pile and passed them to Baird to hand on. Lords Carolan and Burchard did so with neutral faces, Torhelm gave his habitual sneer. When they reached Kel she ran eyes down the neat legal hand. The opening was formulaic; the meat began on the second page with a claim of extensive surveying of the Greenwoods valley interrupted by war, and continued with an account of his attempt to enter New Hope as untrue as it was insinuatingly plausible, insisting on Kel’s ‘nervous inexperience as a green commander’ and a clash with Tirrsmont’s ‘experienced captain’ leading to a gross overreaction, denying a lord free passage of his lands and offering foul insult. Coming to the end she raised her eyes to Turomot’s, and conscious of scrutiny on all sides, friendly and avidly hostile, strove for calm.

            _I am a lake._ “An interesting piece of writing, Your Grace. I note my Lord of Tirrsmont does not explain why he came to New Hope, nor what demands he made.”

            “I noted that too, Lady Knight.” Turomot’s voice was always dust-dry but he sounded unimpressed. “Do you wish to make a response now?”

            She thought hard. “I think it might be better to deal directly with his evidence, Your Grace, but”—she looked at the King—“I would ask, sire, that you be prepared to cast a truth-spell. If my Lord of Tirrsmont repeats what he has written his evidence and mine will clash.”

            “Of course, Lady Keladry.” That was satisfaction in the King’s tone and Kel realised that while this _was_ staged, it was not she who had been set-up. Lords Carolan and Torhelm didn’t seem to realise and Burchard was uninterested, eyes distant and face slack. The King pulled the cord and gave orders for Tirrsmont to be summoned, and in a few moments he entered, finery stretched over corpulence and head swivelling as he took in who was present. He was shown to the empty place by Torhelm and Kel realised there was no chair for him. His glance at her before bowing to the King was rancid with gloating.

            Kel kept silent, resting a hand on Tobe’s tense arm as Turomot took Tirrsmont through his account, spoken lies seamlessly matching those he’d written. His purpose in coming to New Hope he claimed as concern for his people ‘unhappily forced to shelter there’, drawing snorts from Alanna and Wyldon, but he ploughed on. When he said he wouldn’t repeat the obscene things she had shouted, Kel had had enough and rose.

            “I am perfectly happy to repeat all of them, should anyone wish, for I neither shouted nor used any obscenity, and do so swear. Sire?”

            Blue fire sprang from Jonathan’s hand to settle over Kel, flared white, and vanished. “You speak the truth, Lady Knight.”

            “Thank you, sire. My Lord of Tirrsmont, however, was discourteous from the first, and did use obscenity. He omits to say that his ‘experienced captain’, whose byrnie was dirty and rusted, ‘requested entry’ by shouting ‘Make way for his Lordship, you fools. Clear the road now’—addressed to myself, two uniformed captains, and senior civilian leaders. He also omits to say his son addressed me as ‘wench’, and denied he had attempted murder in the tilt but declined to swear it by gods’ oath. His Lordship’s own address to me was successively as ‘the so-called Lady Knight’, ‘girl’, ‘Mindelan’, twice, and ‘you harlot’.”

            “You lie!” Tirrsmont’s face was twisted.

            “I swear I speak truth. Sire?”

            The blue fire again settled, flared white, and vanished.

            “She does speak truth, my Lord. Which means _you_ lie, and have lied in a sworn deposition to the court as well as in person to me and every member of this Council.” The King’s voice was cold. “You will do well not to lie again. And I give you oath-warning I will truthspell you at need.”

            Turomot took over. “I ask you again, my Lord. Why did you go to New Hope? You have filed no claim or notice of intent hitherto, as you should if you were surveying it so extensively. Why did you go there?”

            “I was concerned for the welfare of my people, Your Grace, nothing more. On my word.”

            Kel hadn’t bothered to sit. “Sire?” Blue fire swirled and rebounded, flaring scarlet. “He _has_ no concern for his people, as General Vanget and my Lord of Cavall will attest. Those who were his are at New Hope because he refused them shelter, voiding all liege-oaths. He wanted miners as a work party to reopen silver mines closed by order of my Lord of Goldenlake and General Vanget, though he consulted neither.” She spared the scarlet-faced Tirrsmont one withering glance and moved from defence to attack. “It is for his demonstrated unfitness to rule that I oppose his claim, as does the northern army command and the great lords from Frasrlund to haMinchi land. The issue, my Lords, is not whether he should be given more to abuse and abandon but whether what he has should be taken away for gross dereliction of duties to his people, king, and realm.”

            “You _godshat_ whore! I’ll have you—”

            _I am a lake be damned._ Kel had warned Duke Gareth, if not about Tirrsmont, and she was over the table in a second, Tirrsmont’s voice chopping off in a gasp as he stumbled backwards. She was vaguely aware of shouts but her attention was all on the man before her.

            “I’ve taken all the filth I will endure, Tirrsmont. If you again speak such vileness in my hearing or my son’s we will meet on the field of honour, where I will cut out your tongue. Do you understand?” He goggled, blood draining from his face. “ _Do you understand?_ ”

            There was silence until Wyldon’s voice came from behind, sounding oddly gentle. “I believe he does, Lady Keladry. And should he not, I will second your righteous challenge. I also concur that Tirrsmont should face an enquiry of noble competence, as does General Vanget.”

            “You _what?_ ” Lord Carolan’s eyes were popping. “Cavall, you _can’t_ —”

            “Silence!” The King’s voice was raised but Kel’s eyes were boring into Tirrsmont, now a dirty white, breath rasping. “Lady Keladry, you have our apologies for the gross insult you were offered. Please sit.”

            Silently Kel did, ignoring her father’s look but letting Tobe and Irnai take her hands under the table. The King drew himself up.

            “My Lord of Tirrsmont, your behaviour here is wholly unacceptable, both in repeated perjury and in using blasphemous obscenity against a knight who has given this realm exceptional service. Nor can I ignore the strongly adverse opinions of your conduct in your fief that have been expressed over many months by my most senior commanders, my Champion, the Knight Commander of my Own, and many of your peers. Our first matter for a vote, then, is whether Arnolf of Tirrsmont should face an enquiry of noble competence. My Lords?”

            It was a landslide. Counting proxies, but with the royals and Duke Turomot abstaining, there were twenty-two votes and only Lords Carolan and Torhelm voted against. Lord Burchard seemed barely aware of what was going on and abstained by saying nothing. Macayhill expressionlessly supported the majority despite Carolan’s glare.

            “That is clear. Given your conduct, Arnolf of Tirrsmont, you will remain in royal custody until His Grace of Wellam convenes the hearing.”

            A double tug of the cord brought in a guard captain and two sergeants, armoured, armed, and clearly waiting. Something in Kel shivered as she wondered how deeply she’d been used and saw the sheer bewilderment on Tirrsmont’s face, as well as Torhelm’s loathing for her, and Lord Carolan’s; but Tobe’s simple satisfaction, and the faces of Alanna, Wyldon, Lord Imrah, Nond, and Disart, who’d said almost nothing, gave her pause. She hated dishonesty and drama but something had been achieved. As the doors closed the King was brisk.

            “Regardless of the outcome of that hearing, my Lords, it is clear Tirrsmont’s claim for New Hope must be summarily dismissed. Do any demur? Lord Carolan? Then it is so dismissed. There are also those other claims for it as a fief, and Lady Keladry’s petition for their dismissal until peace shall allow deliberation, with which she submitted compelling documentation you have seen. I ask that you vote on her petition, and considering that documentation and what we have heard of Quenuresh I add a rider by royal authority—that when the matter of New Hope’s status as a fief _is_ considered, Lady Keladry’s claim, or that of her heirs and assigns, shall be considered first.”

            Kel was too busy parsing ‘heirs and assigns’—did he mean _Tobe?_ —to do more than glare and the King took no notice. The vote was nineteen–two, and despite her surprise at Lord Burchard’s second silent abstention she managed to express thanks for the Council’s care of New Hope, though she wasn’t persuaded care or anything like it lay at the heart of what had happened. She found herself thanked in turn for all she’d done, and slightly mollified when the King extended thanks to Tobe and Irnai for all _they_ had done and attending today. Then she was politely dismissed until the morrow, but as she rose her father requested he be excused from remaining business, and receiving permission accompanied them out.

            In the ante-chamber he spoke only once—“Your rooms I think, my dear”—but once they were there, and the children had escaped to her bedroom to play with Kitten, whom they found waiting impatiently outside her door, he enfolded her in a hard hug. When he let her go his face was a complex of emotions.

            “My dear, I am sorry you had to endure that. And the children. I realised yesterday something was in the wind but His Majesty forbade me to speak to you.”

            “It was all a set-up then?”

            “In essence—Vanget’s complaints about Tirrsmont have been savage—but not entirely, I think. Certainly the force of your reactions was not foreseen.” He shook his head. “For all my rage at his words my heart was in my mouth when you went after Tirrsmont so _fast_.” He hesitated. “Has it often been as vile as that for you, my dear? I knew you faced dislike and suspicion from the hidebound, of course, and about Joren. But these … sexual slanders, and the hatred in Torhelm …”

            She couldn’t lie to him. “It’s not new, Papa. I never let it bother me when it started, nor for a long time, but I won’t accept it in front of Tobe. I’d warned Duke Gareth I wouldn’t.”

            “Nor should you—I wasn’t complaining, my dear. It was splendid, actually, and I’m proud of you for defending yourself and my grandson, as you should. Under other circumstances … Council members may not challenge one another, of course, but that was not at issue …” His voice trailed away until he swallowed and looked her in the eye. “You have changed, Kel—you’re so much stronger—so disciplined and reserved, as you have always been, but then so forceful … I had thought it was your experiences of the Chamber and at Rathhausak. But you have changed again since I saw you at those marvellous dedications.” He swallowed. “I know something happened at New Hope, my dear, something bad, but even your mother will not tell me what it was.”

            Kel’s heart hurt. “I didn’t want to upset you, Papa, but yes, something happened. I …. met some gods. It changes you.”

            “You mean at the dedications? Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady?”

            “No. Yes. Them too. But I met the Black God, the Graveyard Hag, and the Goddess.” It was hopeless and she felt tears hot in her eyes. “Can you promise not to shout or anything? I don’t think I could bear that, and I _am_ alive and well now.”

            “Of course you are. I won’t shout. My dear, please, what is it?”

            As barely as she could she told him, and his hands on her shoulders tightened painfully before he stood, kissed her forehead hard, and walked back and forth, fists clenched. She could see his distress and the control he was exerting and her heart quailed; when he turned back to her there were tears in his eyes but joy as well as horror and rage in his face, and his voice was wondering.

            “My worst possible nightmare, and you are alive. Strengthened and returned by the god himself. Without harm, however changed.”

            His hug was no fiercer than her own, and both their shoulders were damp by the time they released one another. Although she had dreaded his knowledge of what had happened she felt only relief and a singing emptiness, and knew exactly what she wanted to do.

            “Can you come with us to the Temple District, Papa? I wanted to thank Shakith for Irnai and the Goddess for myself.” Her smile was crooked. “I’ve thanked the Black God several times already but I’d like to do that again too.”

            “Of course. I’d have been going myself anyway.” There was a burst of laughter and an accompanying trill from Kitten in the bedroom. “But perhaps cleaning ourselves up and having lunch first would be an idea.”

 

* * * * *

 

The day was dry and intermittently sunny, and after the tensely seated morning they decided to walk despite the chill wind. Tobe and Irnai had cloaks among their acquisitions; Kel found the jerkin over her tunic sufficient, Piers collected his cloak from the office he maintained at the Palace, and Kitten, who chose to come, needed only dragonhide.

            It was a mile-and-a-half from Palace to Temple District, separated from the lower city by the Common, where herds and flocks grazed under watchful eyes. Leaving Palace Way as soon as they could they took the path across the half-wooded slope below the Palace enclosure, Irnai and Tobe running and skipping, while Kel and her father answered with a few evasions a lively barrage of questions from Kitten about mortal attitudes to the gods and why they were going to the temples today.

            _It is very confusing._ Kitten sounded resigned. _Dragons fought a war with gods a long time ago, and my Grandsire said we now avoid one another. But when a dragon does have to meet a god, as Grandsire and I did, we just talk, though as I told you, Kel, gods seem very bad at listening. Mithros certainly didn’t listen to me properly when I scolded him for upsetting Mama. Dragons don’t do this worshipping the gods that mortals do. I understand you wanting to say thank you to the gods who have helped you—that is only polite—but why do more?_

            Kel had watched her father’s eyebrows take several trips up and down during this but he answered civilly enough.

            “You must remember we mortals _are_ mortal, Skysong. We do not live long by dragon standards, we are physically small and weak, and all but a few great mages, like Numair, weaker magically than any dragon. We are at the gods’ mercy and worship is a way of trying to gain favour.”

            _I suppose so, but when Mama wants something from my grandparents she just asks them. It is much less complicated._

            “She _is_ their daughter, Kit. It’s different for the Godborn.”

            _But you say all the gods are parents to you. They do not seem to be very good parents. Oh look, Irnai has found the wildflowers she wanted._

            She scrambled off to help gather wintersweet and Kel’s father turned to her with a look of bemusement.

            “She _scolded_ Lord Mithros? Do you know about that?”

            “A little.” Kel smiled. “It sounded rather wonderful. Daine said it was after she’d killed Ozorne and found herself in the Court of the Gods with all of them there. She’d been chasing him in bird-form so she was naked, poor woman, and Lord Gainel lent her his coat. Uusoae was banished by Father Universe and Mother Flame to a cage somewhere I didn’t understand, and Lord Mithros gave Daine a choice between remaining in the Divine Realms as a minor goddess or returning to the mortal realm for good. At some point Diamondflame and Kitten arrived—Daine says dragons go wherever they want—and when she thought she’d have to stay with her parents and leave her mortal friends she got upset and Kitten set about Lord Mithros. It must have been quite a sight.”

            “Glory, yes. I imagine Lord Sakuyo was amused. Did it do any good?”

            “Maybe. Daine does visit her parents sometimes, as they visit her, so the limitations on travel can’t be absolute, but whether it was Kitten’s doing I doubt. Unless Lord Mithros agreed in self-preservation.”

            Her father laughed. “She does talk nineteen-to-the-dozen, doesn’t she? But she’s always interesting, if sometimes alarming.” He shook his head. “A war between dragons and gods—Mithros! I’m glad that was long ago and now they just talk.”

            “Mmm. It’s odd, you know, Papa—the Godwars have come up several times recently.” She told him what Queen Barzha had told her.

            “You offered a treaty to _stormwings?_ ”

            “I did, Papa. You know that phrase about wanting people in not out?”

            “Pissing out rather than in, you mean? Yes—and that’s appropriate for stormwings! Still. Does the King know?”

            “Numair and Daine do. And Numair saw at once why I did it.”

            “That wretched prophecy, I suppose. Your mother told me about it.”

            “Yes. I know in my heart that we’ll face a real fight at New Hope sooner or later, and I’m just trying to get every edge I can.”

            “Of course, and very well, my dear. I was only surprised. I gathered you met Kawit—astonishing creature! Did you try to recruit her as well?”

            Kel laughed. “No, though she’d be welcome if she wants. After Quenuresh we’d take her in our stride. I’m not sure about Diamondflame, though, all eighty-five foot of him. What do you think will happen when _he_ shows up? Kitten says he’s promised to visit her.”

            “He has? News to me, my dear. Did you say _eighty-five_ foot?”

            Cheerful speculation about probable reactions and what Master Oakbridge would consider proper dragon etiquette brought them to the guarded entrance of the Temple District, where Piers was recognised and Kitten, Kel, and the children scrutinised with interest. Her father made a point of introducing them and they talked for a few minutes to the guards, charmed to be spoken to by the dragonet. The main gates were nearer Palace Way and this side-entrance led them behind the temple of the Smith God and the smaller one of Harrier the Clawed to the main square where the temples they wanted clustered.

            Shakith’s temple was smallest, her great centre being in Carthak, but Kel liked the building, winter sunlight from high windows striping the interior. She felt no special indebtedness to the blind goddess but was happy to see Irnai skip forward to lay half the flowers she’d collected at the statue’s feet. An elderly priestess who sat to one side opened her mouth when she saw skipping but abruptly closed it, peered at Irnai, and stood, bowing. After she’d laid the flowers and reached a hand to touch the staff of prophecy, the girl looked at the old woman, face guileless.

            “She told me she likes wintersweet. I was hiding from the Kinslayer and there was a patch growing in front of where I was lying.”

            The priestess’s eyes went wide. “I did not know, Chosen. I will make sure we offer it more often.” A hesitation. “You are Irnai?”

            Irnai nodded.

            “You bless us with your presence, Chosen.” To Kel’s relief she added a more sensible invitation. “You are welcome here always.”

            “Thank you.”

            They went on to the temple of the Great Goddess, where Kel laid the rest of the flowers, sending thanks for being made whole. She felt a sense of warmth and benison, and when she stood and bowed to the statue, tracing the gods’ circle on her chest, there was a faint echo of hounds belling that brought a dozing priestess awake, looking around. Kel didn’t wait to offer explanations, but when they were outside again her father—who had given his own fervent thanks for his daughter’s life and health but felt nothing—looked at her piercingly.

            “She watches you still, then, my dear. It is a great comfort, if also something of a terror, I find.”

            “Tell me.” Kel smiled wryly. “I’m every bit as grateful as I should be, but to be honest I’d just as soon the gods had never noticed me at all.”

            _I told you Grandsire said gods were annoying._

            “So you did, Kit, but I’m not annoyed exactly—I just feel very out of my depth with them.”

            _And is that not annoying?_

            Kel smiled. “You have me there. But there’s not much I can do.”

            _That is annoying too. You are going to the Temple of Mithros now? I will wait outside. I am not giving him the chance to ignore me again._

            “Of course, Kit—that’s very sensible of you.”

            Laughing inside they entered. Flowers hadn’t seemed appropriate for the Lord of fire and war, but Kel had a tiny mageblast with its key that Takemahou- _sensei_ had made, one of a stock in different sizes he’d left her, and hoped it would please the god who had commanded her return from death; she’d left another at his shrine in New Hope. The great polished sun-disc and flaring torches on the walls were familiar on a lesser scale from the Chapel of the Ordeal but impressed Tobe, who had his own offering—a horse he’d carved to ask for Peachblossom’s continued recovery and Alder’s and Kel’s safety in battle. They nodded gravely to watching priests before laying their offerings and praying together before the imposing statue, black skin, gold robes, and gleaming spear, with a strange expression as if he peered into distance. Kel’s prayer was simply for New Hope to be safe, keeping battle outside its walls, with a promise to do all she could to ensure it herself, and a request that if she were in any way failing she be upbraided in time to rectify the problem. She felt nothing like the warmth of the goddess but did have a sense of acceptance, and Tobe said he didn’t know if it had been acceptance, exactly, but had felt his offering was right.

            “That sounds like it.”

            Kel ruffled his hair and braced herself. The Black God’s temple was windowless in plain black stone, a striking contrast with the decorated whiteness of the other main temples, and the dark interior lit only by five tall candles by the hooded statue. She laid her offering—a tiny Yamani _ihai_ , a spirit tablet made from New Hope’s limestone, that she had incised with her own name—and prayed. In Kel’s mind the face beneath his hood was clear; she thought she could never forget any detail of its beauty or infinite sadness, and her heartfelt wish for the god to find the solace he offered twined with pure thanks for her life and sparing her parents grief. She had brought a cone of the best incense she could find and lit it as she completed her prayer, gazing at the face that was not there. Wind soughed through the silence of the temple as candleflames sprang tall and straight; so did the flame on her incense and its rich fragrance spread everywhere. Comforted again, she stood and bowed deeply, thanking the god one more time and took the children’s hands as they followed her wide-eyed father back out. Blinking in sunlight Kel heard her name in a familiar voice and Alanna rose from a bench to saunter across, Kitten bouncing beside her.

            “Hello Tobe, Irnai. Piers. They said I’d find you here, Kel.”

            “I have much to be thankful for.”

            “Mmm.” Alanna’s gaze went past Kel. “Did the Black God speak to you, by chance? There’s some wild-eyed priests headed your way.”

            “Oh bother.” There was no getting out of it. “He didn’t speak but there was that wind sound and the candles flared. My incense, too. Give me a minute, would you?”

            A puffing, black-robed priest with the rank knots of authority tied in his belt approached, others behind with equally disturbed faces.

            “Forgive me, my Lady, but did you just make the offering the Black God accepted so decisively?”

            “I did, Your Reverence. Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, at your service. May I present Sir Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau, my father, Baron Piers of Mindelan, my son Tobeis, and Irnai of Rathhausak, Chosen of Shakith.”

            “Ah. Indeed. My.” All the priests bowed in many directions, trying for several at once so far as Kel could see. “I am Riellin, my Lady. I have the honour to be Third Priest here.” His eyes goggled. “The god’s response to you was spectacular.”

            He was obviously dying to ask Kel what she’d prayed for and while she had no intention of giving him a theological revelation that would have every priest of the Black God for miles around beating a path to her door she saw no reason not to say what she could.

            “Yes, it was. When we dedicated his shrine at New Hope his breath sounded behind the chimes, and when we dedicated the burial ground, so I know he watches over us and gave thanks. I prayed also he might find the comfort he offers—you might try it. He bears such sadness for us all, you realise?” A thought struck her. “Do you worship the Hag?”

            Riellin’s look combined bewilderment and panic. “Ah, no, my Lady. Lady Knight. Commander. We don’t. She is, ah, potent only in Carthak.”

            Kel shook her head. “Don’t you believe it, Riellin. She gets about and has a _vile_ senseof humour, I warn you. The hyena’s a shock too. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have urgent business. Sir Alanna came to summon us from our devotions.”

            She bowed more deeply than was called for and swept away, arms round the children, hearing a priestly babble rise. Alanna and her father followed in silence until they had made it through the gate, where to the consternation of the guards Alanna wheezed to a halt and gave herself over to laughter, actually slapping her thigh as she rocked back and forth. Kel had read of people doing that in one of the absurd romances Neil recommended, but she’d never seen anyone do it and had thought it another ridiculous exaggeration. She watched with interest and eventually Alanna sobered, wagging her finger in Kel’s direction.

            “Kel, that was priceless. Riellin’s nice enough but a godly bore. He’ll be hopping in circles for weeks. I _must_ tell Jon.”

            Kel shrugged, content Riellin should. “I expect they all will. The Goddess breathed too, when I thanked her, though I ducked questions there, and Irnai told a priestess Shakith likes wintersweet. You can expect the Palace gardens to be raided after the hillside’s gleaned.”

            Alanna dissolved in laughter again. “ _Three_ responses? Oh glory. Kel, Kel, Jon says Holloran already makes the gods’ circle whenever he mentions you. You’ll have all of them doing it.”

            “Only two, Alanna. Shakith didn’t say anything.”

            “She said hello to me but I knew the priestess hadn’t heard.” Irnai’s smile was as often far too old for her face but Alanna laughed yet again.

            “Quite right, Irnai. It’s awkward when that happens, isn’t it? Oh that’s a far better afternoon than I could have hoped for.” Still chuckling, she straightened and they began to walk back up the path.

            Kel frowned. “Did you walk down, Alanna?”

            “I did. There’s no urgency and I felt like getting out after this morning. I do have a message, though, which is that they did the draw for Ordeals. There’re six squires this year so it’s three nights before and three after Longnight. Owen’s on the first night after.”

            “Right, thank you. And Prosper of Tameran?”

            “Um, night after Owen. Did I know you knew him?”

            “I’ve no idea. He was with us when we fought those hillmen in my second page year and we’ve been friends ever since.”

            “I did know, then. I’d forgotten. I’m getting old. Anyway, what I really came for was to apologise for being so silent this morning, Kel—Jon wanted me to stay out of it and he had a point. It wouldn’t have helped if I’d told Stone Mountain or Runnerspring or that unspeakable Torhelm what I think of them. Again.”

            “I guessed it must be something like that, Alanna. Papa says he was forbidden to talk to me when he realised what was being set-up.”

            “Really? Jon leaned on you, Piers?”

            “He did, Alanna. Yesterday, when I heard Tirrsmont had filed a complaint and Runnerspring was planning to ambush Kel.”

            “Yes, that was icing on the cake. But I came to apologise and to congratulate you on the way you handled it all, Kel. Polite as you like in the face of considerable rudeness and then _Bam!_ I’ve rarely seen a man change colour as fast as Tirrsmont, the poltroon. Jon’s been itching to take him down, but for the southerners and westerners it was all so far away until they heard him lie to _them_.”

            “I didn’t handle it, Alanna. I meant every word I said.”

            “Then I like the way you meant it.”

            “I don’t like being used, Alanna, and I’ll tell the King so tomorrow. If he wants me to do something he can command or ask it. All this, I don’t know”—she waved her hand—“ _hugger mugger_ does no-one favours. Tirrsmont is a poltroon but he should be tried fairly, not ambushed. And _anyone_ supposed to spring an ambush should know they’re doing it.”

            “You tell Jon exactly that. I did, but he’s so much more complicated than he used to be. Though to be fair it _has_ been a problem.” Alanna’s glance was shrewd. “Do you understand what you did this morning, Kel? Have you asked your father?”

            “We had other concerns, Alanna. I suspect you should know Kel told me what happened to her. Before anything else I must thank you with all my heart for summoning the Goddess.”

            “You did, Kel? Good for you.” Alanna clapped her arm. “I hoped you would but I didn’t think it’d be this soon. And you’re welcome, Piers, as Kel is. But tell her what she did, politically speaking, because I’m not sure she has a clue.”

            “Don’t you, my dear? I think what Alanna means is that you, um, broke the logjam that has delayed things in the Council for months.”

            “Years more like.” Alanna’s voice was a growl.

            “Well, yes. For the first time the military north—both haMinch seats, Cavall, Blue Harbour, and Frasrlund—voted with the Progressives against the Conservative west and south— _and_ you pulled in Nond, Disart, and Macayhill. They’ll find it harder to go back than they might think.”

            “Too right. You’ve also given Jon a half-dozen nicely pointy things to use when he wants, including one that with luck will see that pig Voelden excluded from succession at Tirrsmont. Turomot will be delighted to require a gods’ oath he’s never sullied the field of honour.” Alanna grinned. “And if you don’t end up as Baroness of New Hope, Kel, I’ll eat my armet. Your petition worked beautifully but if you survive whatever it is that’s going to happen Jon’ll have you ennobled in your own right _far_ faster than you can say ‘no’.”

            “ _What?_ ” Appalled, Kel came to a dead halt. “Alanna, you’re joking?”

            “Not at all. Tell her, Piers.”

            Tobe and Irnai pulled Kel back into motion, Kitten bouncing beside them with what looked to Kel like a draconic grin.

            “I suspect Alanna is correct, my dear. From any sensible point-of-view a central northern fief with a stronghold like New Hope is a godsend, and from the King’s perspective he’d be reinforcing the border with someone Prince Roald likes and trusts who is our future queen’s oldest Tortallan friend.” He hesitated and Alanna wagged a finger.

            “Not yet, Piers.”

            “No. There are considerations I’m forbidden to mention, my dear, though I hope you’ll learn of them soon. But they help to explain why the King hasn’t ennobled you in your own right already. He wanted to, you know, and there’s considerable pressure on him to do so.”

            “There is?” Kel felt bewildered, though Tobe’s and Irnai’s hands were tight on her own. “From whom?”

            “From many sides, my dear, not least the lower city. I know you think of Miss Isran as a friend, but she was becoming an interesting voice in city affairs even before your report was published. You know what happened when you and Alanna arrived, and your conduct since has been widely and positively noticed. I would be surprised if a dozen people in the lower city were ignorant of the Protector of the Small.”

            “And they arrived today, drunk.” Alanna grinned widely at Kel.

            “Gah.” Kel hunched her shoulders. “I’m going to strangle that elemental. It’s _ridiculous_.”

            “Well, you’ll have a chance tomorrow. Rather you than me, frankly. More importantly, I hear you’re going to show off a new style Lalasa’s devised this evening and set all the court women by the ears. Do tell.”

            Kel would have screamed if it weren’t for the children.

 

* * * * *

 

After an early supper Lalasa came to help them dress, cheery and talkative, and by the time they passed her inspection even Kel had to admit they were all looking presentable. The flames hemming Irnai’s dress were vivid, and the sight of her fingering the fine material with a dreamy smile was warmth in Kel’s heart. So was Tobe’s scrubbed face atop his blue tunic with its owl and crossed glaives, fine light blue breeches, and shining boots. She even thought she looked well enough herself, thanks to Lalasa, and though she refused lip-paint did let herself be persuaded into eye-shadow that worked nicely. The freckles banding her cheeks had faded with winter and the blue-black traces Lalasa applied made her hazel eyes stand out.

            “There, my Lady. You look a picture, though I say so myself.”

            Kel wasn’t persuaded, but Lalasa had news of what she still teasingly called the Protector’s Maids and draft contracts for Kel to consider, modelled on their own curious employer-servant way of doing things. It had evolved when service as Raoul’s squire took Kel from Corus and Lalasa hadn’t wanted to work for anyone else save as a seamstress; now Kel would in effect be hiring these other women, nominally as maids, and providing capital to let them work for themselves, their wages being underwritten and the money repaid as tithes from profit. It seemed to favour her more than it ought and she argued figures, but Lalasa was clear the women liked the arrangement—employment in Kel’s service gave them status they could use and guaranteed income greatly mollified opposition from kith and kin. Kel did insist on greater generosity in a few places and for everyone’s sake a clause requiring review of wages and tithes at regular intervals with a rider that gave her freedom to deal with difficulties on an individual basis.

            “I’ll check these with Papa, but I think that’s all fine now. Oh, and I’ve been meaning to tell you—you should get a boost with the self-defence classes. I think I’ve persuaded Thayet to require every female servant at the Palace to be trained, in batches. I didn’t think you’d mind some royal patronage.”

            “Oh my Lady. That _is_ good news.” Lalasa knew exactly what women might endure in the warren of the Palace, and beamed. “I do have an appointment with Her Majesty in a few days, but I thought it was another order—she’s been generous buying from me. The Princess and some of her ladies too.”

            “They want the best, Lalasa.” Kel’s sense of mischief tweaked her. “When you marry Tomas you should invite them to your wedding.”

            Lalasa’s scandalised pleasure at the thought and enquiries from Kel about the kind of wedding she wanted filled time until they set off for the Great Ballroom. Given the children’s excitement and likely crowds Kel had thought to arrive earlier than later, but there was already a sizeable queue of couples waiting to be announced, and from the noise many already inside. She could see Adie and Orie with Merovec and Ortien about to enter, so they wound up waiting with people Kel didn’t know or half-recognised from serving as a page and squire. Both she and the children attracted scrutiny and she saw eyes flicking from the Mindelan owl and glaives on her dress to those on Tobe’s tunic, but only the couple behind them bothered—or dared—introduce themselves. An evidently wealthy merchant and his cheerful wife, they were pleasant and interested in the children as well as Kel. They offered congratulations on her report, decrying necromancy, but didn’t harp on it when Kel asked instead about the merchant’s business. She did her bit for Lalasa’s friends, mentioning the shops that would open in the new year, and was gratified by his immediate promise to investigate.

            “Quality wares sell everywhere, my Lady. Carthakis and Yamanis don’t want our ordinary stuff any more than we want theirs—food excepted, at need—but fine work commands a price in both empires.”

            “Yes indeed, Master Orman. I know that from my time in the Islands—there were always exotic things available.” A thought struck her. “Would there be a market for unusual stoneware, do you think—for storage or display? Up at New Hope we’re mostly dealing in necessities, thanks to the war, but our basilisks can petrify wood so anything our carpenters can turn we can render in stone.”

            “There certainly would, my Lady. New Hope is the fort that replaced Haven? Mmm—there’s not many willing to travel so near the front but I’ll send someone to see this stoneware, if that is acceptable.”

            “Very much so. We’re in a military area, so your man will need travel papers from General Vanget or my Lord of Cavall. He’s here for Midwinter so I can ask him to issue them as soon as you know whom you might send. And I can have an escort meet them at Bearsford.”

            “That’s very kind, my Lady.”

            “It’s to our advantage, Master Orman. We’ve so little it’s not easy, but the more we do ourselves the less the burden on army and realm.”

            She couldn’t make out his look as he nodded. “I would more nobles thought so, my Lady. And commanders. All else aside, it’s to my advantage as well—the loss of northern trade these last two years has been felt, and you’ve something new to offer. Fine basilisk stoneware—I can sell that! Does the wood grain stay visible?”

            “It can—depends on what the basilisks want to do.” Her mischief surged again. “And if you don’t mind dealing with a friendly spidren you can swap cheese for the best insulating material I’ve ever come across.”

            She let Tobe explain how useful old webbing was and watched as suspicion she’d been pulling his leg faded into thoughtful consideration.

            “The Carthakis might be interested if it seals against dust-storms and there’d be Gallan and Yamani markets. Did you say _cheese_?”

            “Spidrens really like it—ours do, at any rate. All kinds, but blue especially, and strong goats’ milk ones. They might want other things too, or money to get them. Your man can ask when he comes.”

            “I’ll think on it right enough, my Lady. Be sure of that.”

            The encounter left her cheerful as they reached the doorway and she gave their names to the servant announcing each arrival. His glance was keen.

            “Rart-howsak? Is that correct, my Lady?”

            “Irnai?”

            The girl looked up at the man gravely. “More Rraat-hausac, sir.”

            Her courtesy produced a wide smile. “Rraat-hausac. Got it. Do you prefer Sir or Lady Knight Commander, my Lady?”

            “Lady Knight.”

            “Military rank is always included.”

            Kel had been watching announcements through the door and none seemed to make much impression on the crowd, but when she and the children stepped in heads turned.

            “Lady Knight Commander Keladry of Mindelan, with Tobeis of Mindelan and Irnai of Rathhausak.”

            The weight of attention was palpable but her arms were round the children’s shoulders and she could see her sisters and in-laws with her parents—both in marvellous kimonos—and Alanna. Ignoring the buzz that rose she headed for them, thinking how striking Alanna looked in a dress that matched her eyes but halted abruptly as three burly forms swung out to block her path. Torhelm was clearly already the worse for drink, face mottled; flanking him his vile son, Sir Guisant, and Sir Garvey of Runnerspring wore identically malicious smiles of anticipation. Her hands tightened on the children’s shoulders.

            “So you bring your Scanran bastard even here? Shameless bitch.”

            Whether Torhelm had pitched his voice to carry or was just shouting drunk Kel couldn’t tell but it hardly mattered. Gut tightening and mind chilling with rage she drew herself up, one hand squeezing Tobe’s shoulder, and in her peripheral vision saw Alanna starting towards them, red-faced with purple fire beginning to spark in her hand.

            “Are you entirely stupid, Torhelm? If Tobe were my natural son I would have borne him when I was nine.”

            “Wouldn’ta stopped a slut like you.” Three pairs of eyes gleamed at her, like animals’ at night. “And if you think you’re getting away with your bitch slanders on Tirrsmont, think again. He’ll cut out _your_ tongue and your coyne too before we’re done with you.”

            Kel’s vision was hazing with red that sparkled silver but huge effort kept her voice level. “I think His Grace of Wellam will act as he judges in the realm’s best interests, Torhelm. You’re stupid drunk already and if you’ve the least sense you’ll leave, now. I give you fair warning I’ll—”

            “You warn _me_ , you arrogant cow? Any real man would cut your bitch’s head off and piss down the stump. You’re not even worth swiving. Gods know how you’ve whored it so high. From what I hear even a tauros ran away—didn’t have a bag to cover you with I suppose.”

            He roared laughter, drowning his son’s and Garvey’s sniggers, and Kel’s vision edged everything silver. As time slowed she watched his open mouth, lip trembling and droplets of spittle exploding into the air. His teeth were crooked and his tongue discoloured with the wine he’d been drinking. Somewhere thunder pealed and hounds whined.

            “Or you ran away fast enough, mebbe, when you saw a real pizzle. Oh yes, we know the truth, how you left your so-called people to it and ran.” The drunken face took on a look of cunning. “But you coulda taken it easily, by all accounts—you must be as slack as an old shirt by now, all the whoring you’ve done. Lady Knight be cursed—you’re a bloated bitch who’s whored Tortall to the dogs. If the gods gave a flying shit about us that tauros woulda swived you dead.”

            Thunder pealed again and hounds bayed. Time released her speech.

            “Angors of Torhelm, you are as ignorant as you are blasphemous and malicious. Six tauroses we killed. The seventh did rape me, and I died of it.” She was distantly aware of confusion warring with startled pleasure in Guisant’s eyes. “In a space I cannot describe I met the Black God, who forgave me and at the command of Lord Mithros returned me to the world. By the grace of the Lady Alanna I met the Great Goddess and was healed in my womanhood. If you are wise you will go to your knees and beg the gods’ forgiveness.”

            Something had driven Guisant and Garvey back a pace but Torhelm was too drunk or crazed to realise and his laughter roared again as the torches in the wall sconces flared with candles and oil-lamps all round the room, and the crystal mage-lights above dimmed.

            “Gods this, gods that—you’re a gods’ fool, bitch. P’raps you swived them too, eh? Gave Mithros a jiggy ride in that slack coyne of yours.”

            Kel’s hand rose to her chest and began to trace the gods’ circle. “I, Keladry of Mindelan, swear I have spoken truth and call on Lord Mithros, the Great Goddess, and the Black God to witness it.” Her hand stilled and the sky waited. “And I ask that for his vile blasphemies and falsehoods this night Angors of Torhelm be stricken dumb and halt for a year and a day, that he may consider the peril in which his soul stands.”

            Her hand moved on and the air heaved. Every flame leaped tall and silver and voices rang amid cresting thunder, clashing arms and cries and belling hounds with the winter wind soughing through them all like a gale.

            _Heard and Granted. Heard and Granted. Heard and Granted._

            Kel felt only pressure as air thickened and pulled the trembling children closer to her, hands tightening on their shoulders, but Guisant and Garvey were bowled backwards, faces slack with terror, and Torhelm dropped like a felled steer, one hand clapping to his throat and the other his right leg. The sound he made was a mewling version of the death-scream of the women who’d died by the tauroses and from the smell Kel knew he’d voided himself. Her mind burned clearly in the gods’ presence and her voice rang through the Hall.

            “So is your blasphemy answered, Angors of Torhelm. Think on it as you limp in silence. You will have no second chance.” Pressure eased and the mage-lights half-brightened again as flames guttered. Kel’s head turned smoothly to meet Master Oakbridge’s eyes, wide and shocked where he stood inside the door. “Master Oakbridge, this lord and these knights require assistance to leave, and there is soil to clear, I believe.” She smiled gently. “I fear the torches and candles need renewing also.”

            That distant part of her had never appreciated the training of protocol more as Oakbridge jerked and bowed. “At once, my Lady.”

            He didn’t need to signal—the servant at the door and others came nervously forward with pages, bowing to Kel and the children before hauling a whimpering Torhelm and the dazed knights to their feet and dragging them roughly out. As a maid came scurrying with bucket and mop Kel saw Alanna staring from a position half-way towards her parents and sisters, blurred behind her, but waited until the shaking woman had mopped Torhelm’s mess and dropped to her knees to polish the floor. A white face peered anxiously up at her.

            “Is that alright, my Lady?”

            “It’s fine.” Extending a hand Kel grasped her arm and effortlessly lifted the woman to her feet. “I thank you, of your kindness. Go with the gods’ blessings.” Looking up she saw beyond Alanna a path extending to the foot of the throne-chairs on the dais at the end of the room, with Jonathan and Thayet as arrested as Alanna. All around pale faces hung suspended. Her voice rang again, full of an ease she truly felt.

            “Your Majesties, I can make no apology for the drama—Lord Angors and the gods’ were responsible for that—but I am sorry for the delay. I was bringing the children to present to you.”

            They walked beside her as she went forward, Alanna stepping aside, purple eyes wide, then falling in behind with her parents. The crowd clearing like scuffed leaves.

            “My adopted son, Tobeis of Mindelan, Your Majesties, and the seer Irnai of Rathhausak, Chosen of Shakith. Without them both my mission to Scanra could not have succeeded.”

            Prompted by the comfortable skirt of her dress she curtseyed, feeling Irnai follow as Tobe bowed. Jonathan’s face was unreadable.

            “Lady Knight Commander, no apology is necessary save Ours for the obscene insults you have suffered from a drunken guest here, and the gods have shown what they thought of _that_. Lord Angors of Torhelm is summarily dismissed Our Council, and he and the knights of Torhelm and Runnerspring who stood with him are banished Our court.” He gestured aside and a uniformed sergeant of the guard shook himself and headed briskly for the door. “Tobeis of Mindelan and Irnai of Rathhausak, yet young you have each done Us great service, and We honour you both. Lady Knight Keladry, Our indebtedness grows daily and We hereby recognise the title the Chamber of the Ordeal bestowed on you with the gods’ blessings—Protector of the Small, who cannot defend themselves and whom you champion, even as Lady Alanna champions Us.”

            Kel didn’t even blink though something inside her sighed resignation. “You are generous, sire.” She turned to Thayet. “I am sure the gods intended no disruption to your ball, Your Majesty, and I am sorry for any I have occasioned.”

            “There has been no disruption, Lady Keladry, only welcome justice and blessings.” The mage-lights brightened to the full at Thayet’s words and Kel was aware of servants replacing candles. “Share with Us now a grace cup, if you will.” From somewhere a liveried servant appeared at her elbow with a great two-handled golden goblet and a fine lawn napkin. “We give thanks to the gods for their witness and judgement, and to Lady Knight Keladry for her great services and mercy.”

            Thayet drank, wiped the lip, and passed the cup to the King, who did the same and passed it to Kel. To her relief it wasn’t wine but warm, spiced apple-juice, and after wiping the lip herself she passed it to Tobe, making sure he had it securely. He was equally careful passing it to Irnai, and the liveried man took it back with a bow.

            “Lady Knight, you have yet to greet your family.” The King’s voice was velvet. “Be at ease with them now, and with all.”

            He gestured with both hands and conversation grew as people began to break shocked entrancement and move normally again. Alanna softly clapped Kel’s arm as she turned, a muttered ‘ _Very_ well handled’ audible only to her and perhaps the King, and she found herself enfolded by her father’s arms for a  second time that day, then her mother’s, and to her surprise her sisters’, both with tears in their eyes. Her own were dry and the sense of inward ease continued though somewhere emotions were clamouring and the wary wonder on Ortien’s and Merovec’s faces was disturbing. She was pleased though to see them talking to Tobe, and her sisters to Irnai, as her mother slipped an arm round her waist and turned her to see the King and Queen in a half-circle with her father. Everyone else was keeping their distance and Thayet’s voice was low.

            “Keladry, I am _so_ sorry you were confronted by that vileness and as amazed as we all are at what you and the gods did. Alanna and your father have told us how they responded to you this afternoon in the temples, and now this. They watch you very closely.”

            There was a question under her words and Kel shrugged slightly.

            “They do seem to, Thayet, but your guess is as good as mine. It’s New Hope and the war, plainly, and this timeway thing Queen Barzha mentioned—but she thought even the gods could only wait and see and Daine’s parents said the same. I think they’re just making sure the people they want to be there get there safely for whatever it is.”

            “You’re very calm about it, Lady Knight.” The King’s statement was a question. “Even Alanna is not so poised when the Goddess has spoken to her, and you saw Irnai when Shakith made her a mouthpiece.”

            Kel felt herself smile—Alanna was often uncalm but she didn’t say that. “I don’t think divine power passed through me in the same way, sire. It struck Torhelm directly but we were shielded. I believe the Goddess bestowed a gift of ease. I am surprised myself but I feel calm.”

            “Then you are the only one. Forgive me—was that judgement yours or the gods’? The voice was yours but the words were ancient.”

            Kel considered. “I don’t rightly know, sire. I was seeing red—literally—but everything was edged in silver and moving so slowly, as in combat sometimes. I was tracing the god’s circle and I paused and the words I spoke came to me. I _think_ it was me—I read something in which a mage did that to a man who offended and it seemed right.” A thought struck her. “I’m sorry if it causes you political difficulties.”

            “I’m not, Lady Knight, and you shouldn’t be. It was better justice than I could achieve, and far swifter. I’m delighted to have him gone.”

            Thayet’s gaze had moved over Kel’s shoulder and her eyes widened. “As are we all. But we’re going to have to put this off until tomorrow, Jon—the dragons are here.”

            As she spoke Kel heard gasps and turned to see Numair in best robes, Daine in a dress like her own, Kitten with a beautiful silk bow and ribbon round her neck, and, dwarfing them all as she constricted herself to pass through the doors, Kawit. The servant’s voice rang out.

            “Master Numair Salmalín, Veralidaine Weirynsra, Wildmage, and the dragons Skysong and Kawit Pearlscale.”

            Kel heard the King’s and Queen’s breaths as they started forward with smiles of welcome and was overcome with amusement harder to conceal than the distress everyone expected from her would have been. She almost wished Quenuresh were here too, and Kuriaju and Amiir’aan with St’aara, but there was Tkaa, greeting his distant relations in that carrying whisper and skilfully drawing in a couple to whom he’d been talking—Master Orman and his wife. Kawit’s sheer size and length of tail made for odd patterns as people skirted her but normal conversation slowly resumed and then rose rapidly to a great buzz. Her father rested a hand on her shoulder.

            “They will be talking about it all for longer than that year and a day, my dear. Are you really alright? I am sure divine power did move through you—your voice as you cast him down …”

            “I feel fine, Papa, truly. I think I might not later but I’m fine now. We should rescue the children from Orie and Adie.”

            “Or them from the children, maybe.”

            It was true that Tobe and Irnai seemed to be holding their own, faces shining as they chattered and took her sisters, fascinated and reluctant, to meet Kitten and Kawit. Kel and her father began to circulate, greeting those they knew—lords of the Council, in whom the morning’s respect was fused with startled wariness, save for Wyldon, who gravely kissed her hand, offering his apologies for not having been able to warn her of the planned ambush; the Yamani ambassador and his wife, who gave Kel bows of respect to Sakuyo’s Blessed and to her relief wanted to talk about glaives rather than what had just happened; a pensive Lachran, stealing a moment from duty after he’d brought them fresh juice and eyeing his aunt with wonder until Kel turned their conversation to his training; and various other Mindelan or Seabeth-and-Seajen relatives, who goggled deference Kel found tiresome. Piers also introduced her to scores of new faces—ambassadors, Yamanis and Carthakis at the Tortallan court for one or another reason, merchants in the Emerald Ocean trades, guildmasters with their wives and older children, and others who ran Corus, from the Lord Provost and senior Dogs to Wardsmen from the city council. Kel’s head swam trying to remember them all but she said the right things, passing over the divine but making positive reports of the war and the strength of New Hope’s defences, lodging its name in their minds as a place with people, and making tart remarks about how much those who’d refused to accept them had deprived themselves. After the fourth discreet enquiry from an avid wife about her dress she had to concede Lalasa had been right, and happily directed custom her way while discreetly warning that Her Majesty and Princess Shinkokami had priority but adding that Lalasa’s growing custom had brought other seamstresses of exceptional quality into her employ.

            It was a relief to reach Daine and Kitten, beside Kawit in a corner to which the opal dragon had courteously retired, crouched with her tail furled neatly around her forelegs. Daine’s pregnancy didn’t show beneath the loose fall of the dress and she grinned.

            “Isn’t Lalasa a marvel? I couldn’t stand the tighter dresses I had and she whipped this up in a jiffy.” Irony entered her eyes. “I felt the gods arriving clean over in our rooms. Kawit too, and Sir Myles told us what happened. Good for you, Kel—Torhelm’s always been disgusting and I’m only sorry I missed it. Are you alright, though? You’re looking wonderful but it must be costing you plenty.”

            _The Goddess’s power yet lingers within her, Godborn, and soothes her distress._ Kawit’s great eyes turned to Kel. _You are a most unusual mortal, Keladry. Mithros has always had a temper to strike down those who cross him, but for three to strike together and the Black God among them is a rare departure. May I ask if they spoke to you?_

“They didn’t, Kawit, nor even through me, I don’t think. Their voices just sounded from the air, so far as I could tell, and their words were only ‘heard and granted’, like a chorus.”

            _They are ever secretive, even when there is no obvious need._

            “And dragons aren’t?”

            Kel could hear amusement in Kawit’s mindvoice.

            _It depends on the dragon, but not in the same way. Save in our first centuries we are less playful, as a rule, and our anger far more direct._

            “The gods were pretty direct with Torhelm this evening.”

            _Indeed. Perhaps they learn wisdom at last._

            Kel knew better than to accept that gambit and the children’s return with her mother helped the conversation to less charged matters. Sophisticated finger-food was being served and identifying the ingredients for Tobe and Irnai and watching them sample Kmiri, Carthaki, and Yamani delicacies scattered among the Tortallan became an adventure in itself. When Tkaa joined them they saw he was munching from a bowl of stone fragments .

            “Black opal matrix,” he explained to a fascinated Tobe. “Queen Thayet knows I have a taste for it, as many basilisks do, and is kind enough to indulge me. I fear you would find it indigestible. A whole opal would serve you better.”

            The conversation wound to power stones and their uses, Daine telling the children about the mage-barrier at Dunlath that had been anchored in black opals, her friend Brokefang and the wolf called Short Snout, another cheese lover, before ending with Numair turning an enemy mage into a tree and subsequently searching for a year to find the tree he had in necessary balance turned into a man. They listened happily, asking sensible questions, and when she saw eyelids drooping Kel gathered them and they made farewells. When she had them safely tucked up Kel was at last able to close her bedroom door behind her and try to take stock of her emotions.

            The Goddess’s ease was still present, she thought, a warm cushion, and the passage of divine power certainly hadn’t harmed her, but below it all she knew a great bruise spread from the obscenities Torhelm had spewed, hammering relentlessly in language and thought at the lack she felt most keenly and the convictions of unattractiveness Lalasa’s dress had briefly assuaged. His careless mention of the paradox that had always run through such obsessively sexual insults, making her at once too ugly for any man to desire and the most successful spread-legged jade lurid imaginations could conjure, had been a greater knife in her heart than his cruder language, though she didn’t really understand why. She’d felt the lone cow among his bitches and whores too, almost sadly, as if it were a confirmation though she knew it was only an echo of Joren’s childish malice. As she cleaned her eyes of the colour Lalasa had applied they were wet but she wasn’t sobbing, just leaking heartfelt sorrow. Could she do _nothing_ without lords she barely knew brandishing the mysteries so relentlessly closed to her? To the understandable reluctance of men to attempt a woman who could throw or decapitate them was added an equally understandable reluctance even to consider one who might call massed gods to strike them down if they displeased her—for nonsense as it might be Kel knew enough about gossip to have a sure sense of how the tales of this night would be told and retold.

            When she had put on her nightshirt, blown out the candle, and climbed between the cold sheets tears were still slowly welling and she thought it would be a long time before she slept. But within minutes she was amid her dream of the Islands, running with Yuki and Cricket in spring sunlight through the great gardens of the Imperial Palace and seeing the marvellous new blossoms limning the Emperor’s flowering trees in white and pink glory.

 


	11. Lordship

**Chapter Eleven — Lordship**

_18–31 December_

 

Kel’s lunch with the King was not what she’d expected. Instead of Thayet or Shinko their companions were Roald and a grumpy Numair, who clearly didn’t think he needed to be there. Nor, after brief remarks as he led her to private apartments she’d never seen, did the King talk of the previous evening—his concern was entirely with the elemental.

            “It is a foundation of the realm, Lady Keladry. Its incorruptibility is critical. Forgive me, but it has never before shown such favouritism, and the double failure of three years ago still has people on edge.”

            Kel blinked. “Favouritism? Forgive _me_ , sire, but that’s … not accurate.” Telling him it was complete rot didn’t seem wise. “Do you call it favouritism when you send the nearest capable servant to unblock a drain? I have no idea how the elemental really perceives time—I asked it when I would meet Blayce and it said something incomprehensible about mortals being fish in a bowl who see nothing beyond, while it _is_ the beyond and sees everything at once—but the fact is, mine was the first year of squires to face ordeals after the killing devices appeared. It picked someone as soon as it knew someone was needed, that’s all.”

            “Mmm, perhaps so. But it picked _you_ , Lady Keladry.”

            “It didn’t have a large choice, sire. There were only six of us, and of those one was no use to anyone—you know about Quinden, I imagine.”

            “Quinden? Oh, Marti’s Hill. Vanget dismissed him, didn’t he, with a snorter of a letter.”

            “I haven’t seen the letter but he certainly dismissed him, with cause. So in effect there was me, Neal, Seaver, Esmond, and Faleron, who all came with me anyway.”

            “And you are the outstanding commander—the only commander—among them. Yes, alright—I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

            “Because you were distracted by my being a woman, sire? I did tell you the elemental gave no sign of even recognising the fact, let alone caring. It’s interested in results, not mortal prejudices.”

            Roald ghosted a wink. “I told you too, father. Kel’s plainly the outstanding knight of our generation and while I like the others of her year well enough, except Quinden who’s an ass, she must have been first choice. And I’m very glad she was because she _did_ do what had to be done and I don’t think the others would, not so quickly anyway. I saw those devices on the battlefield and I’ve never seen anything worse.”

            “I can’t argue with that, Roald, but being in the north so much you don’t realise how difficult this business has been politically. The death of Joren was bad enough—having his principal target treated so differently by the Chamber has compounded it severely.”

            Kel felt her temper spark. “I imagine it has, sire, but again, that is _not_ the elemental’s concern, nor should it be. I know no more than anyone about why it killed Joren, but as he was a hate-filled and cruel boy who would have been an appalling knight and tyrannical lord I’m not complaining. And yes, there’s friction as women reassert themselves after a long period, but it wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for a fat handful of lords who despise anyone they think weaker than themselves and like demeaning women. Frankly, sire, while I understand that as a voting block in the Council they slow the progress you can make, I’ve never understood why you seem to respect their prejudice so much.”

            The King’s voice took on an edge. “It’s more than a handful of lords, Lady Keladry, and their prejudice has deep roots.”

            “Is it, sire? Most knights who challenged me during the Progress were set on by Joren. One was Tirrsmont’s son, another Torhelm’s. How many people causing you problems are independent of Stone Mountain, Genlith, and Runnerspring?”

            The King said nothing but glared at Numair’s muttered ‘None’.

            “As to deep roots, again, I’m sorry but I disagree. I’ve had reason to study the history of women in Tortall very carefully, and I can find no sign of the restrictions some people claim as traditional before the rise of that ridiculous cult of the Gentle Mother in the third century. It found champions among over-pious nobles, like Baylisa of Disart, but it’s hard to discount baser motives—she was involved with that Duke who was executed after the mages’ revolt. It grew during the reigns of Roger II and Gareth, as an opposition focus. It’s _never_ had significant popular support outside fiefs whose lords enforce it as a justification of their own policies, it doesn’t make sense below the middle classes, where women necessarily work hard, and you barely hear of it these days—they haven’t replaced their leader since the last one was killed in the Immortals War. Besides, the Goddess showed plainly what _she_ thinks of it when she chose Alanna.”

            Numair sighed. “You’re completely right, Kel, and I’ve told him all that before. So has Sir Myles. And you’ve accelerated change among the middle-classes and nobility. Honestly, Jon, you ought to get behind the landslide, not wave your arms at it hoping it’ll stop. If you didn’t feel bad about forbidding Kally knight-training because the Carthakis wouldn’t like it you would have, long ago.”

            Kel was fascinated by such an analysis but the King clearly wasn’t and crossly wrenched discussion back to the Chamber.

            “We must deal with Joren’s death first, Lady Keladry, then I want Lord Burchard to leave. Inviting him was a superb move and might lance this thing cleanly, depending on what the Chamber says, but there are things I want to ask I’d as soon he wasn’t privy to.”

            “If it says anything.” Numair was twisting a ring. “It wasn’t interested in our concerns about Shakith.”

            “Yes, yes, but Lady Keladry wasn’t there. It won’t ignore her.”

            Kel shrugged. “We’ll find out . May I ask what things, sire?”

            “Bluntly, whether it intends to give anyone else such a task as it gave you, and if so whether it’s willing to let us know. I don’t want to interfere with it—I meant what I said about its incorruptibility—but suppose one of this year’s knights or next’s does something against orders and says he was just doing what it told him?”

            It hadn’t occurred to Kel that someone might falsely claim special privilege on the elemental’s behalf and she thought it improbable in the extreme, but also couldn’t see a problem.

            “In my case it made itself known, sire, so presumably it would again. And if you’ve any doubt ask the knight to re-enter the Chamber and declare their task done. Or use your truth spell.”

            It was Jonathan’s turn to blink. “I cannot just use the truth spell on nobles whenever I feel like it, Lady Keladry.”

            “Why not? If they’re telling the truth all’s well, and if not they’re lying to their king and ought to be stopped.”

            “It’s in Our reciprocal oaths that no magic shall be used on a noble without consent. Has been since that mages’ revolt you mentioned.”

            “Then add a rider excepting truth magic to all new oaths and let it spread naturally. It’d be a good thing all round. And as far as the elemental is concerned, order anyone claiming its patronage to report back to it.”

            “I suppose. The other I’ll take under advisement.”

            “It’s a good one, Jon. What arguments d’you think anyone could advance to say they _should_ be allowed to lie to you?” Numair grinned. “And wouldn’t you enjoy dealing with them?”

            “I have to say I like it too, father. My truth spell’s not as good as yours but I’ll have someone who does have the juice, even for a lord with the Gift.” Roald was thoughtful. “This came up with Shinko because she didn’t understand why nobles could give sworn evidence in court or to the Council and refuse to be truth-spelled. They can’t in Yaman.”

            Numair nodded. “Nor Carthak. I’m not sure about the Copper Isles but I can’t see the Rittevons accepting such a limit on their power any more than Ozorne.”

            A smile glimmered on the King’s face. “Alright, alright, you needn’t gang up. I said I’ll think about it. I’ll ask Turomot too.” He looked at Kel. “You _do_ have a direct way, Lady Keladry, don’t you? It tends to be alarming but it’s clearly stood you in good stead.”

            Kel shrugged. “There’s proper tact, sire, and going all round the houses when you’ve only to open the door. That’s why I’m willing to try to talk to the elemental—maybe it’ll tell us all to run along, as it did Numair, but fidgeting speculation about why it did this or that without trying to ask it directly seems a waste of time.”

            “Indeed. Then again, you seem to ask spidrens and other immortals about whatever’s on your mind as well. Kings too, come to that.”

            “You think so, sire?” Kel’s voice was cool. “I’ve never asked why you agreed to have me put on probation, didn’t condemn my fear of heights, or allowed Joren to get away with a speech openly insulting your queen, arranged marriages for Roald and Princess Kalasin, and champion. They were questions much on my mind, but I didn’t ask them and never will.”

            “Ouch.” The King regarded her quizzically while Roald tried to hide his smile. Numair didn’t bother.

            “All of us who know Kel have told you she doesn’t _ask_ many questions, Jon—nothing like enough when it comes to her own needs, though she’s getting better.” Numair winked at her. “She looks for an answer herself. What she does, consistently, is put things _into_ question by not making the same wrong assumptions the rest of us are prone to.”

            Astonishment overcame Kel’s indignation. “I make enough wrong assumptions of my own, then, Numair, to add to the stock.”

            “I don’t think so, Kel.” Roald shook his head. “Numair’s right—you _don’t_ make assumptions the way most do. I could never decide if it was all the nonsense you face or seeing through Yamani eyes. Both, maybe.”

            The King nodded sharply. “I have to agree, Lady Keladry—you seem to make very few assumptions. You drew a wrong _conclusion_ from inadequate evidence, thinking I’d punish you for having disobeyed Cavall, but we can all do that, and as he insisted we’d given you little reason to expect fairness. Even then one could say you _weren’t_ assuming success would pay for all transgressions, as many people do. When I thought about it I realised it was also because of how you felt about what had happened to your command in your forced absence. When people have consciences at all they can be odd like that.” His face was distant with memory. “No matter. You’re correct about trying to talk to the Chamber and it’s time we did. Whatever his faults, and gods know they’re legion, it would not be kind to keep Lord Burchard waiting on _this_ matter. You’re sure you don’t want to come, Numair?”

            “Not in the least, Jon. It told me to go away nicely last time and I’ve no wish to irritate it. In their own domains elementals as old as that one has to be are powerful things.”

            “Roald?”

            “Not unless you think I must, father. I didn’t enjoy my own Ordeal very much and I don’t know how Kel’s so calm about it.”

            “It’s not like an Ordeal, Roald, truly. It … just shows up, in the face carved above the door lintel or in the earth, and talks.”

            “That infernal plain without _anything_ in sight?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then no thanks. Horrid place.”

            Kel found her sense of humour restored by Roald’s exaggerated shudder. “I did ask it why it hadn’t decorated with trees and birds or something but it got all huffy. It probably likes a nice bare desert.”

            Only Numair laughed, shaking his head. Two Conté men stared at her with identical expressions hovering between bemusement and shock. The King recovered first.

            “You asked the Chamber of the Ordeal why it hadn’t _decorated_ its desert. And it got _huffy_. I don’t blame it. Mithros!”

            “I asked the elemental, sire, not the room it lives in. Would _you_ like to live there permanently? Ordeals happen in people’s heads anyway—it would make no difference if you whitewashed and furnished the room.”

            “Don’t even _think_ it. Gods preserve us from decorating women.”

            But he did smile this time, quite warmly, and making her farewells to Roald and Numair they went together, guards falling in behind as they left the private apartments. The first afternoon bell struck as they arrived and Lord Burchard was waiting, accompanied by two men in Stone Mountain livery. He was in unrelieved black, pale face and white-blond hair standing out in the gloom. He offered the King a stiff bow and to Kel’s surprise made one to her as well. His voice was strained.

            “Lady Knight, I have been told what happened last night and dissociate myself wholly from Torhelm. Angors was always blasphemous and a fool in his cups. I am neither, and do not oppose the gods’ will.”

            Kel forbore to point out that in condemning female knights he did nothing but oppose the goddess. “Thank you, Lord Burchard.”

            He nodded jerkily. “You are generous, undertaking this. I spoke badly to you after Joren’s death and I apologise. I was in shock.”

            Kel had little doubt he’d spoken badly of her many times. “Of course. There can be few griefs greater than a parent’s for their child.”

            “There are none.” His face became almost animated. “It possesses you. Food and company have no savour. Work is the only solace and what is the point when your best and eldest has been taken from you?”

            Joren had two brothers and a sister; Kel winced at the bleakness of lives with such a father but her face showed nothing as the King nodded gravely and swung open the doors of the Chapel, urging Burchard forward. Over their shoulders Kel saw the room prepared as for an Ordeal, a lamp burning before the gold sun disc and a bench before the door of the Chamber. She was last in, closing the doors in the face of the King’s guards and liveried men, but when she turned found she was expected to lead on, and bracing herself inside as she had so often walked forward and laid hands on the cold metal of the door.

            “Elemental of the Chamber, I come with King Jonathan and Lord Burchard of Stone Mountain, who have asked me to question you on matters of high concern. Will you let us enter?”

            She heard no answer save perhaps a sigh but the door gave under her hand and she walked into the small, bare stone room that held such strange power. The King was behind her, face austere, but Burchard hesitated, swallowing before forcing himself forward. The door swung closed and Kel’s eyes went to the face carved above the lintel, where yellow eyes looked down at them all and thin stone lips never moved

            _What matters of high concern, Protector? I told that mage I will say nothing of Shakith or any god. They speak for themselves if they wish, as you found last night._

            “It’s not that.” Kel realised the men had heard nothing when they looked surprise and followed her gaze to the carved face. “Three years ago, at Midwinter, a squire entered this Chamber and did not leave it alive. Joren of Stone Mountain. He was pale blond, as his father here.”

            _What of it?_

            A sidelong glance told her she was still the only one hearing, and she didn’t know if they could see the yellow eyes. Not good. “Many people besides Lord Burchard were shocked by Joren’s death, and sorely puzzled. In the same year you rejected another squire, Vinson of Genlith, requiring confession of his crimes and punishing him with the harm he had done others.”

            _So?_

            “You know mortal understandings are limited, and we are confused by the difference in your judgements and actions. It causes disturbance in the realm, as the King stands here to attest. Will you tell us why you judged so? I ask that you speak so we all hear—please do not burden me alone with knowledge none but you can ever confirm.”

            _Very well._ Kel felt a wave of relief as the King and Burchard stiffened, eyes turning to the carved face. _You will not like what I have to say, Protector, if I do as you ask. Nor you, Lord of Stone Mountain._

            “Please.” Burchard was hoarse. “I must know why you killed my son.”

            _I was the vessel of his death only. His heart burst with hatred in the test I set him. Would you know the details of his Ordeal?_

            “You made me fight, climb, and watch awful things I couldn’t stop.”

            _As I made him. Like you he fought well, and was strong. But the vision of friends and kin dying did not move him. Your death gladdened him, Lord of Stone Mountain, for he would inherit and chafed under your rule. Deaths of women excited him, for his mind was filled with desire to kill her who has become Protector of the Small—to kill, torture, and rape. To him the sum of knighthood was the power to do so. I made him live a world of female power, where the Protector was queen and the safety of his liege-people required loyal submission. He died rather than do so. The Black God took him safely._

            Kel felt sick and the anguished noise Burchard made didn’t help as he turned away, stumbling towards the door which swung open to let him pass. She heard him drop to his knees, anguish become retching, and before the smell could reach her spoke more sharply than she meant.

            “Shut it again, please. Now.”

            It shut and yellow eyes looked at her with what might be surprise.

            _There is more?_

            “Sire?”

            The King swallowed, looking deeply disturbed. “Ah—yes, Lord of the Chamber, there is more.”

            _Ask then, Jonathan of Conté. I serve your realm and will answer what serves that end._

            “First, a clarification, if you will. Did Joren of Stone Mountain truly intend to kill Lady Keladry? Or only dream of it?”

            _He intended murder and had attempted it by proxy, paying knights to try to kill her on the field of honour. It was his hatred of you as all he could never be, Protector, that drew you to my closer attention, not only your repeated visits to my door._

            “And why did you choose her to kill the necromancer?”

            _I chose the tool that would work. I told her I did not know when or where she would meet that mage but in visions of his death the knight who killed him always acted alone. The others of that year were good knights, save one who barely passed my test, but I did not think they would act alone as the timeway required. Why does this matter to you?_

            “Because you are a cornerstone of my realm, and your decision to give the first known Lady Knight in more than a century a special task has had … repercussions.”

            Stone couldn’t shrug but Kel felt an equivalent in her mind and abruptly they stood on the earthen plain, bare even of grass and without a cloud in the sky. The face formed in earth before them.

            _This is the context in which I judge squires, Jonathan of Conté, without distraction. Mortal ephemera is not my concern. Why you ceased to send me female squires I never understood for it greatly weakens your realm, and their return pleases me. The Protector is the strongest knight you have sent in a long while, since your Lioness and the Lord of Goldenlake. Should I not use her to your realm’s best advantage?_

            Kel was bothered if the elemental would make her blush but its words rang her heart with joy. She had always known she’d been very lucky in Raoul as a knight master, but she’d been deprived of contact with Alanna for so long, and to know herself joined with her childhood heroine in the elemental’s mind was a testimony she’d never expected.

            “I am glad you did, Lord of the Chamber. But if you should again need to give a new knight a special task, will you tell Us? Or Our heir, Roald, when he shall sit on Our throne? I will gladly swear to support that task, whatever it may be, or do nothing, if you so command, but to be ignorant of such a thing is … onerous to a king. And unsafe.”

            There was what seemed to Kel a long silence, though it probably wasn’t more than a few moments—bare earth and windless air made time very abstract. The King looked at her once or twice but she silently indicated they should wait.

            _I make no promise, Jonathan of Conté. None but the Great Gods can command me, nor will I command a mortal king. But I will say I do not believe it likely I will need to assign further tasks, as I did to the Protector. I have done so only once before her, and even should another necromancer arise to disgust the gods he or she will not stand so close to the roil in the timeway that we approach._ The voice became what Kel thought of as disgruntled. _It is only in recent years Conté kings have ceased to speak to me about each set of squires. Do you wish to reinstitute the custom?_

            The King looked very surprised. “What custom? To _speak_ to you about squires? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

            _Your knowledge is at fault. Your grandfather Jasson was the last to do so, early in his reign. He said he would be absent from Corus the following year, and never came again. Your father I only ever spoke to at his Ordeal, as I had spoken to you only once before the Protector._

            “What was it the custom to speak of? And how was it done?”

            _On the night after the last ordeal each Midwinter the king would come, and we spoke of fitness and unfitness I had found, new knights’ strengths and weaknesses, the realm’s needs. It was part of my service._

            The King shook his head ruefully. “We have forgotten much, it seems. Thank you for reminding Us, Lord of the Chamber. I will come on the night after the last Ordeal.”

            Kel was fascinated by the jumping pronouns of the King and the man the elemental insisted on, Jonathan of Conté, but she had no time to think about either.

            _Very well. Is that all, Protector?_

            “Not quite. I have two questions.” She glanced at the King, again looking surprised, and subdued embarrassment. “One is personal but I am content the King hear it. The other concerns you and the realm.”

            _Ask then._

            She looked around, delaying, and a thought struck her. “You read our minds, yes? Our thoughts and memories and emotions?”

            _You know I do._ The voice seemed unusually patient.

            “So you know what has happened to me in the last six months?”

            _You have suffered and achieved much. The gods echo in you._

“Yes, well. I know you like your desert but can you put us at New Hope? On the gatehouse roof, on a sunny day?”

            Seamlessly they were there, New Hope behind them, neatly ordered but deserted, the Greenwoods valley stretched before them. Though she knew it for illusion the familiar view was a comfort and Kel felt something in her relax. For the King, however, all was surprise.

            “Mithros! This is New Hope?” He took a step to the parapet and leaned through a crenel, peering down. “Gods, it _is_ a stronghold, isn’t it?”

            Pulling himself back he walked round, looking at the double palisade and killing field, then over the shelf and main level stretching away to terrace and shrines. When he spoke his voice was warm.

            “Formidable, Lady Keladry, truly. Lord of the Chamber, can you create anywhere in my realm like this?”

            The thin-lipped face appeared on a merlon. _If I have encountered one who knows it. Much of your realm is within my knowledge. If you have need you may ask to see a place you do not know yourself. I did this for your forebears long ago, but that custom too passed. What were your questions, Protector?_

            Kel steeled herself. “May I speak of my Ordeal?”

            _I have never forbidden any person to speak of what I do. It is a mortal custom to insist on silence about it._

            “Mithros!”

            “I thought as much.” Kel’s voice overlapped the King’s but her eyes were resting on a distant slope, beyond Haven. “So. In my Ordeal, as in the visions given through your door, you made me watch everyone I love and like die, horribly—all my deepest fears. But I realised after the tauros that one thing you never did was threaten or use rape. Why not?”

            _Why should I?_ Something that might be distaste curled in the mindvoice. _It was no deep fear of yours then nor mortal mating any part of your knowledge. What purpose would it serve so to test you?_

            “None, I hope. Yet those who oppose female knights speak insistently of what you call mating. I think you should be testing _them_.”

            _What do you mean?_

            “It links with my second question. You said last year a squire barely passed your test. I’m guessing that was Quinden of Marti’s Hill.”

            _It was._

            “Do you know what happened to him?”

            _Has he died? That happens. He was a weak fighter with a streak of treachery but with the war the realm needs knights._

            The indifference chilled Kel. “No, he didn’t die—he caused serious disciplinary problems and was dismissed from service. And as much as Joren he seems to hate and despise women.”

            _Yes, such hatred was in his mind, including hatred of you, Protector, but he had no plans to kill you and I let him pass._

            “Well, he says he has such plans now. And there are other knights with the same hatred—Ansil and Arknor of Groten, Voelden of Tirrsmont, Belar of Heathercove, Guisant of Torhelm, and his father Angors, whom three gods struck down last night for suggesting I’d seduced Lord Mithros. And the other knight with him, Garvey of Runnerspring.” The thing that most rankled and appalled spilled from her lips. “When Guisant heard me say I’d died of the tauros rape his first reaction before confusion set in was _pleasure_. The thought thrilled him.”

            She heard the King exclaim but her attention was on the elemental, whose face seemed to frown.

            _I read the truth of what you say in your mind, Protector. You believe I should not have passed these men, nor those who hate women as they do? All could fight well._

“I call them a danger and a disgrace to the realm. But I’m not trying to say who you should or shouldn’t pass. I’m saying you should test for such hatred as a weakness.            You hammer people with their deepest fears. Well and good. What you don’t do, or never did to me, is _tempt_ them with their basest desires. A knight should be chivalrous as well as strong. You test for strength, always, but not chivalry. And men carry from here the sanction of knighthood, though they poison the realm with minds that cannot separate anything from their own desires to rut.”

            There was another silence. Kel met the King’s eyes defiantly but said nothing as she watched him grapple with what she’d already said.

            _Jonathan of Conté, do you share the Protector’s concern?_

            Kel knew the elemental could read both their minds but didn’t care, and her gaze dared the King to say to her face that he _would_ allow such men to be knights in full knowledge of their vileness. After a tense moment he nodded.

            “Lord of the Chamber, I do. I cannot deny I wonder how each man Lady Keladry named became a knight and wish them to perdition.”

            _There will be more failures._

            The King took a deep breath. “Then there must be more failures.”

            “Tell them _why_ they fail when you release them—that they are not incapable of fighting but of protecting the weak as knights are sworn to do. That knighthood is more than capable butchery and a knight more than a tauros in mail.” Kel’s voice was passionate but she hadn’t wholly forgotten politics. “You will be talking to the King after each year’s Ordeals so he will know. And the training master can know also—it was Wyldon’s failure not to know this, because in his own honour he could not imagine the minds of Joren and Vinson and to him they concealed their baseness. But they could not conceal it from you, and you denied them.”

            _I will think about it, Protector._ Stone lips couldn’t smile any more than stone could shrug. _I said you would do nicely. Is that all?_

“Yes, thank you.” Kel looked down and the King’s voice startled her.

            “Is it possible for me to walk around New Hope while I am here?”

            The mindvoice was very dry. _The Protector’s knowledge of her command is extremely detailed. Go where you will, but swiftly._

A surprised Kel found herself giving the strangest tour yet. Everything was solid and complete but the absence of people was disconcerting and she concentrated on the layered defences. As they stood on the North Tower roof the King looked at her sidelong.

            “You didn’t say you had your own agenda, Lady Keladry.”

            “I didn’t altogether know it, sire, until I heard why Joren died and that Quinden barely passed.”

            “You’d been thinking about it, though.”

            “And last night you heard why. Torhelm was grosser and more blasphemous but the tenor of his words was no surprise to me.”

            He winced. “It was grotesque. I can’t say you’re wrong.”

            They continued round the alure to the cliffs and descended to the terrace. The shrines glittered strangely and Kel stopped, staring.

            “They don’t usually look like that but Takemahou- _sensei_ said they were filled with godlight. The elemental must be adding it.

            _You are correct, Protector. Even in your mind I perceive the traces of the gods’ blessings here._

            Kel thought of dedications and an idea struck her—she and the King were within the shallow bay so they wouldn’t be in the way. She fixed the image in her mind, from Quenuresh’s bulk to Kitten and Junior.

            “Can you add the immortals, as they were at the dedications?” Silently they appeared, unmoving as statues. “Thank you.”

            “Mithros!” The King took an involuntary step back. “ _That’s_ Quenuresh? She’s huge. Roald said she was but seeing her is different.”

            “Isn’t it? I tried to tell Macayhill and the others—you have to live with her and learn trust. You can’t command it.” She named the other immortals. “We held a first council when I left. It was odd but worked.”

            Unsure, she led him round the still immortals and down to the caves. They were there too, but she felt the elemental’s patience wearing thin and went no further than the main cavern, mentioning what lay elsewhere. When they climbed back to the main level it shimmered and vanished, leaving them in the bare Chamber with the dimmest light.

            Kel bowed to the stone face. “Thank you.”

            _You are welcome, Protector. It was not such a bad name after all, was it? Go now and protect someone else._

            The door swung open, letting in the light of the Chapel beyond. The King blinked.

            “Why are you glaring at the carving, Lady Keladry? Did it speak?”

            “It was being sarcastic.”

            “ _Sarcastic?_ Mithros! I won’t ask. Come, I’ve no idea how long we’ve been in here but I want true daylight again.”

            In the Chapel a damp patch showed where Lord Burchard’s lunch had been cleaned away, but a sour reek lingered in the air and with mutual haste Kel and the King crossed to the doors. At his enquiry one guard said it had been only a few minutes before Lord Burchard stumbled out and they’d seen what had happened and summoned a servant; it had been barely half-a-candle-mark since they’d all gone in.

            “Now _that’s_ like an Ordeal.”

            Kel agreed, and they went together in silence, parting at the foot of the stairway to the private apartments. Before the King had taken a dozen steps up he clattered down again, calling her back and asking the guards to stand away.

            “Lady Keladry, I owe you far greater thanks than I have yet offered, and my indebtedness grows every hour, it seems. The last two days have been one amazement after another. And New Hope is astonishing, as a fort and a model of treaty peace. There are reasons I have bestowed no greater reward on you that you will soon learn, but I would not have you think me unappreciative.”

            That un-Yamani frankness that came closer to Kel’s surface with every experience gripped her. “Thank you, sire. I don’t do anything in hope of reward, but if you’re feeling grateful don’t _ever_ set me up again as you did yesterday. I’ll play the goat if you ask it with fair reason but not blind. It’s wrong, needlessly. And if we’re going to speak like this, please, it’s Keladry. There’s a limit to how much ladyship I can take.”

            He looked at her with what in another man she’d have called admiration but that was absurd.

            “I think there will be few limits otherwise, Keladry. A Councillor who speaks plainly without fear or favour is worth a great deal to any king.” Something settled in his eyes. “It will take a while to arrange but Torhelm’s seat is yours and will remain so irrespective of what happens with New Hope. To hinder your passage to knighthood was the single stupidest thing I’ve done since I proposed to Alanna.” He ignored Kel’s complete confusion. “I say this to few but I have said it to your father in matters of Yaman, and say it to you in respect of immortals under treaty at New Hope, or others who come there. If there is no time to ask but you need my authority, you have it, without fear of traducement. I will not forget.”

            He turned and was gone again, leaving Kel speechless. The seat on the Council was a shock and not altogether welcome, but would serve New Hope well and she wasn’t unaware she’d be the first knight of her generation on the Council as well as a second Mindelan seat. The covert authority was interesting too, and effectively ratified her offer to Queen Barzha, which was useful. But … the King had _proposed_ to Alanna? And been refused, presumably. _When_ did that happen, and _what_ was the story? Kel didn’t usually relish gossip but this was far too good to pass up and she went in search of Alanna to find out.

            After gratifying her curiosity with an entirely scurrilous saga that left Kel having to remember to keep her mouth closed—disguised squire and _knight master?_ _and_ the Rogue?—the conversation turned inevitably to the Chamber and a while later Kel found herself in an improbable meeting with Alanna, Wyldon, and Padraig. She relayed what the elemental had said and each point brought intense discussion—Joren’s death, its indifference to whether people spoke of their Ordeals and duty of meeting the King each Midwinter, mapping ability, her request for a new kind of testing. She found herself nervous about Wyldon’s reaction to the last but he was supportive.

            “I’ve thought a lot about what you said, Keladry, and come to the conclusion you were exactly right. A lad like Genlith should not be a knight—no-one can dispute that—and neither should a man like Torhelm. I’m sorry it should _have_ to be tested for, but it’s plain it should.”

            Not having known Joren Padraig was shocked by the elemental’s revelation of corruption, but as a fair-minded man had no quarrel with the exclusion of anyone similar, though the thought of increased failures was deeply unwelcome. Kel was blunt.

            “Why don’t you read all new pages key passages from the Code of Chivalry, Padraig? Tell them from the first the elemental tests _all_ of it—protecting those weaker than you, living to _honour_ your kingdom and gods, not just defend them, not refusing _any_ cry for help from man, woman, or child. It’s all there—it’s just some of it’s slipped in practice, like annual meetings and other things the elemental will do.”

            “Yes, that’s sound advice, Keladry.” He sighed. “It’s only that, well, the Chamber’s always been the great mystery, above everything and everyone. It’s disconcerting to find it thinks we’ve been ignoring it and wants to talk. I wonder why Jasson let that custom lapse—it seems a very odd thing to do.”

            Kel had been thinking about that. “It said it was early in his reign and he warned it he’d be away next year—which sounds like the winter campaign against Barzun, when he was injured. I’ve had no chance to check but I recall he was unconscious for a while, a day at least.”

            “That’s right.” Wyldon was definite. “It’s in Emry of Haryse. They were worried about him. You think he _forgot_ after injury?”

            “Or thought about it differently.”

            “And if only he knew …” Alanna nodded thoughtfully.

            “Exactly. That’s why I’ve told you all, so a pool of people know.”

            “Good thinking.” Alanna and Wyldon spoke in unison and looked at one another in horror before Alanna cackled and Wyldon winced.

            “Kel, you’ve spanked the Council, called three gods down on Torhelm, and solved a mystery we didn’t even know existed, but that’s nothing to getting Cavall and me to agree. Goddess, what _are_ you going to do next?”

 

* * * * *

 

On Longnight Eve it began to snow, and before the storm eased four days later everything became a wonderland. It meant Owen could do little on the day before his Ordeal but mooch around the Palace, until Kel and Wyldon took him to the indoor practice courts to burn off nervous energy sparring with glaives borrowed from the pages. Having seen how devastatingly she used it he’d been experimenting, and Wyldon, if now interested, was a novice, so Kel taught them a pattern dance with the benefit of inducing meditative calm. Afterwards they sent him to have dinner with his father, ate companionably, arguing merits of glaive, spear, and halberd, and met him again at the Chapel when the hour came.

            To instruct a candidate for knighthood was a special responsibility and Kel felt the honour keenly. Neither she nor Wyldon had said anything to Owen about contact with the elemental, and had no fears for his temper of mind, but as they spoke the phrases of the Code she wondered if it was listening. She had reluctantly agreed not to stay in the Chapel during Owen’s vigil, as Turomot had for her, lest anyone suspect interference—the opposite of Turomot’s reasoning and an unwelcome irony, however sensible. But she was there with the children, Wyldon, and many people, including Owen’s pacing father, to see him stagger out, hectic but triumphant.

            “Not even a bit jolly,” he said as they surrounded him with congratulations , “but being a knight at last is. Bandits here I come.”

            Wyldon took him and his father off, and at sunset Kel saw the King knight him in the Great Hall. Next dawn she saw Prosper emerge, equally exhausted and relieved, and the dinner Padraig gave two evenings later for all six new knights with their knight masters and second instructors was an interesting innovation. It brought Kel into contact with people she knew only by sight, and if there was a wary courtesy in the way everyone treated her she wasn’t complaining. None of those who knew mentioned that the King would be entering the Chamber that evening, though it was on their minds, but Kel and Wyldon were asked if they knew what Quinden had done to enrage General Vanget, and made it clear his crime had been to endanger men he’d been leading. The conversation turned to responsibilities of command and Kel was surprised to realise she had more experience than anyone at the table except Wyldon and Padraig, but more pleased with professional respect than wariness of divine intervention—the only good thing about which was that no-one was prepared to ask about her experience of dying.

            She also had other things on her mind, and though she wouldn’t have told Owen for the world one had been more memorable than even the honour of instructing him. On Midwinter morning, after she and the children exchanged gifts they’d collected outdoor gear in hope of a good snowfight and taken presents for Numair, Daine, and Kitten to their rooms. Everyone was left very pleased with one another: Kel gained a black opal Numair had managed to rig to let her activate spellmirrors, Giftless as she was, and the children a clever Carthaki toy whose irregular wooden blocks fitted together in scores of ways; Numair appreciated his jerkin, embroidered with stars, while Daine was tearfully grateful for the thought but cheered by dark green trousers to accommodate her pregnancy. For Kitten they’d found a fine model of the Palace, complete with towers and finials, that Kel had an amused Tkaa petrify. The dragonet was happily lighting it in a rainbow of colours when she sat bolt upright, magic winking out.

            _Grandsire is coming!_

            Daine’s and Numair’s rooms had an additional outside door to allow four-legged visitors to come to them directly, and a piercing trill had it swinging wide for Kitten to charge out. Snowflakes swirled in and a cursing Daine struggled up while Numair pushed it to until they could all don outside gear and follow. Nearly a foot of snow proved a greater obstacle than Kitten had anticipated, and they caught up with her determinedly ploughing along half-way to the horse-meadows adjoining the Forest. Chuckling, Numair scooped her up, brushing off snow and setting her on his shoulders. Horses and ponies had been stabled when snow began and the field was empty, but Daine had them wait.

            “Diamondflame needs a fair space to land.”

            After cold moments in which they saw nothing but snowflakes Daine cocked an eyebrow at Kitten, whose snout was turned skyward.

            “Sure he’s coming _now_ , Kit? Did he speak or did you sense him?”

            “Something’s happening, magelet.” Numair’s long nose was also pointing up. “The spiral spell, I think.”

            Kel’s question led to an explanation that didn’t leave her much wiser and broke off as a vast, dark shape passed overhead, disappearing again into the snowstorm before reappearing much lower and cupping massive wings to settle surprisingly lightly in the field. Diamondflame was _huge_ , even with wings furled, black against the snow save for a golden crest, and Kel instinctively hung back clutching Tobe’s and Irnai’s hands tightly as Kitten leaped clean over Numair’s head and began ploughing through the snow towards him, trilling fit to burst. Seeing her the great dragon flicked out a paw, one silver claw extended, and a line of flame melted snow in Kitten’s path in a heartbeat. Ploughing became a headlong rush, but as she reached him she skidded to a halt, bowed deeply, and bounced into a welcoming paw that grasped her, clearly talking twenty-nine to the dozen, never mind nineteen. Daine and Numair followed, Kel and the children cautiously trailing, fascinated but unwilling to intrude. She realised Diamondflame wasn’t black but the darkest blue, like the ink of tentacle-fish that washed up at Mindelan. Eyes larger even than Kawit’s surveyed them benevolently.

            _Greetings, Godborn, and to you, Numair Salmalín. My granddaughter seems in high spirits and to have progressed remarkably._ Diamondflame’s mindvoice was astounding, as rich and deep as a great singer’s but crackling with power, impossible age audible—or whatever a mindvoice was. _You have looked after her well, and the debt is acknowledged. Wingstar and Rainbow send greetings._

            “Thank you. And ours to them, Diamondflame. Kit’s been no trouble and she’s worked hard at magic and understanding mortals. Kawit’s spell enabling her to speak to us has been a great help.”

            _I would think so._ Amusement rolled in the voice. _Though it is not exactly a spell, but an ancient magic inhering in opal dragons even I had forgotten. It is long since one of my cousins walked in the world and I look forward to seeing Kawit—it is three score centuries since we spoke._

 _She was asleep for twenty, Grandsire, but I am very glad I woke her up. Not being able to talk to anyone was_ very _frustrating and she and the basilisk Tkaa have taught me much since then. Look!_

            Sitting in the huge paw Kitten trill-croaked a complicated sequence and each of Diamondflame’s great silver claws, longer than the blade of Kel’s glaive, flashed a different colour.

            _That is excellent, Skysong. There are dragons with a century for each of your years who cannot do as much. Perhaps I should send them to dwell in the mortal realms also._

            Kel was bemusedly contemplating an influx of dragonets on mortal furlough when she was aware of the dragon’s gaze.

            _Will you introduce your friends, Skysong? One youngling sparkles with Shakith’s gift, the other with the wild magic of horses, while the woman is radiant with lingering godlight._

_Oh, I’m sorry. Grandsire, this is Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small. The Graveyard Hag played a trick on her she did not like, but the Goddess and Black God have favoured her and six days ago with Mithros they struck down a mortal who was upsetting her. The boy is her adopted son, Tobeis, and the girl Irnai of Rathhausak. Kel rescued her from the Scanran king no-one likes. Kel, Tobe, Irnai, this is my grandsire Diamondflame. He is the most important dragon of all except Rainbow Windheart and fought with us in the Immortals War._

            Kel and both children had completed deep bows long before Kitten finished and saw Diamondflame’s eyes spark with interest.

            _Thank you, Skysong, and greetings, Lady Knight Keladry, Tobeis, Irnai. I felt gods move together and wondered what they were about. One mortal upsetting another does not seem sufficient cause._

            “Um, he was very blasphemous, my Lord, and gods have been watching me lately. Queen Barzha Razorwing of the Stone Tree Nation says the timeway rests on me, though I have no idea why it should.”

            _That is interesting. Barzha Razorwing is wise, as stormwings go._

 _She gave Kel the skulls of some tauroses Kel killed and she made a skullroad. Barzha said they did it because of an old skullroad lined with_ dragon _skulls._ Kitten’s indignation was undiminished. _Is that true?_

            Diamondflame’s gaze became a palpable weight. _A skullroad?_ That _is an ancient term. I cannot know why stormwings do anything they do, Skysong—they are their own creatures though their eyries border our lands—but it is true a skullroad in the Divine Realms was created during the Godwars. There is a dragonsong about it, and a godsong. Lady Knight, there is a tale here, plainly. Perhaps we might go somewhere and hear it._

            Kel bowed again. “Of course, my Lord, but I have no idea where you might, ah, fit.”

            _Dimensions present no difficulty. I go where I will._

“Kawit’s stable-block is nearest,” Daine suggested, “and I know she’s looking forward to seeing you too.”

            _Very well. Let us go._

            What followed was the strangest day of Kel’s life, tauroses and gods notwithstanding. At the stables Kawit was waiting, swishing snow with her tail, and welcomed them. How Diamondflame fitted into a building smaller than he was Kel had no idea, but doors, walls, and ceiling somehow bulged out of his way and he entered with ease, settling along one wall with Kawit opposite him and everyone else grouped round their heads; Kitten again snuggled into one huge paw, a mouse on a mountain. Seeing the mortals retained coats Diamondflame waved his other forepaw and walls and floor became warm to the touch, soon heating the whole block sufficiently that layers were shed. Irnai settled against Kawit, smiling at the dragon’s heat, and a surprised Tobe found himself sent to inform the King who had arrived and returned even wider-eyed than he’d left, with Jonathan, Thayet, Roald, and Shinko, who all bowed greetings and settled to listen. By then Kel was deep in her tale of what the elemental and assorted gods had been saying to her and how the skullroad had come to be, passing over her death while feeling she didn’t fool Diamondflame for one minute. He let out a breath redolent with heat and spices.

            _The gods’ concern with chaos-touched tauroses makes sense, but their number may be coincidence. Still, I share Barzha’s suspicion, and anything that induces stormwings to boil seven skulls clean is worth thought. This gathering of kinds at New Hope is interesting also—and Quenuresh as sensible a spidren as I have met. I wondered when I heard of the treaty between ogres, mortals, and the People at Dunlath, but this is closer to the mark. Is there anything else you can say about the skullroad, Keladry? Perhaps something you think trivial?_

            Wondering what mark he meant Kel hesitantly mentioned the way the stormwings had piled up skulls, almost as a sculpture, and added with some embarrassment the soldiers’ nicknames for them.

            _That is as strange as anything in this tale, for the gods did as much for the dragonskulls set in their road. Language then was not as it is now, but the names of those dragons might be rendered as Firebreath, Golden Eggs, and their five kits; their skulls became, in your idiom, let me see, Cinders, Yolky, Flinders, Croaky, Parcel, Morsel, and Runt. It was the contempt for the kits that enraged dragons to their revenge._

            Kel didn’t know where to look. “I’m sorry. I’ll remove the skulls.”

_Your feeling does you honour but there is no need. Tauroses have neither names nor mates nor young. None will take offence or revenge. What intrigues me is that no mortal could have known this tale, nor would any god speak of it, even Crooked Kyprioth. Barzha must be right about the timeway’s spiral._

            “I didn’t really understand about that, I’m afraid, my Lord.”

            _Mortal perceptions of time are limited. Even such as young Irnai, who sometimes see the timeway through Shakith’s eyes, cannot grasp it as dragons and gods do. And we do not control what we understand. The timeway is how all that might be refines itself into what will be and is. It existed before Father Universe and Mother Flame and will exist after them. It has patterns of its own making._

            “Its _own_ making?”

            _Yes. It is not a being one talks with but far more than blind force._

            “Huh. May I ask what you meant when you said New Hope was nearer the mark than Dunlath?”

            _Prophecies speak of a time when all will live in peace together but it has not been so since the Godwars broke the peace of the beginning. And never in the mortal realm. I learned of Dunlath through Skysong even as Uusoae came close to bringing about the ending of all things that she desires. Now you build peace between kinds in the face of war. It may mean nothing but it is interesting._

            Kel didn’t want more prophecies, however interesting. “Is there anything I should do?”

            _Continue as you have, striving with honour for what matters. None can do more and it is plain the gods who see possible outcomes guide you as they can. They seem sincere. But I will come to see this skullroad if Rainbow does not think it unwise. A skullroad is dragon business._

            Kel had to be satisfied and talk broadened, wandering through Irnai’s and Tobe’s experiences, Daine’s encounters with her parents and difficulties of being a pregnant shapeshifter, Numair’s researches and Kitten’s progress, Kawit’s impressions of the mortal realms after her two-thousand-year nap, Roald’s and Shinko’s marriage, and affairs of Tortall, including treaties with immortals, alliances, the war, killing devices, necromancy, and King Maggur’s methods of obedience. Hearing the King’s impressive voice sound thin beside the weight of Kawit’s and impossible depth of Diamondflame’s Kel found perspectives expanded even more than by her sense of Quenuresh’s and Tkaa’s ages.

            The mortal need for lunch—fortunately not shared by dragons—was dealt with by relays of pasties, but in mid-afternoon Jonathan and Thayet reluctantly left for duties not even Midwinter spared them. Tobe and Irnai were getting restless and Kel thought she’d best get them some exercise before heading to her parents’ townhouse for the evening, but Kitten was fidgety too and to Kel’s astonishment Kawit, eyeing the dragonet, proposed a snow fight.

            _It is centuries since I saw such a snowstorm, but Skysong has told me about throwing balls of it and it sounds an enjoyable game._

            What followed was surreal. Diamondflame declined to do more than observe on the grounds that he was too large a target but the others found themselves involved in pitched battle. Roald and Shinko proved a dangerous pair, while Kawit’s ability to become invisible was offset by the snowless dragon-shape she left in the air, as well as Kitten’s considerable and Numair’s limited ability to pinpoint her anyway. Daine couldn’t shapeshift into an ice-bear but pregnancy didn’t stop her transforming one arm and hand to scoop larger missiles and throw them harder, teaming up with Kitten to track Kawit and with the children to ambush Kel and Numair. Shrieks, snorts, and trills of laughter brought ostlers, guards, servants, and a stray priest to see what was happening, stopping in shock when they saw Diamondflame crouched beside the railings; but he welcomed them with reassurances and spread a vast wing to provide shelter against the flakes that continued to fall. Thereafter hits were cheered or groaned and encouragement shouted, especially for the children and Kit, and when the dragonet managed to scramble up Kawit’s tail to her back—apparently walking on air—and place a snowball Tobe tossed to her squarely on the opal dragon’s head there was applause. Declaring Kit the winner Kawit let her stay there as they headed in, grinning at the enchanted audience, and Diamondflame reheated the stable so efficiently everyone was soon warm again.

            As night fell the mortals left the dragons to talk, Kawit promising to return Kitten to Daine’s and Numair’s rooms. Their outside staircase being the quickest way back they went together, Numair starting to pull at the story of skullroad and timeway and Kel determined to worry about neither.

            “There’s nothing I can do, Numair, and they’re even more of a distraction than prophecy.” She rested a hand on Irnai’s shoulder. “Besides, I may do better _not_ knowing—if I _had_ known about this dragon skullroad I’d never have allowed the tauros skulls to be made into one.”

            He didn’t disagree but his speculation continued in a mumble and they left him to it, parting from Daine with a hug and hurrying to change and head for another family dinner. Whether Adie and Orie entirely believed Tobe and Irnai had spent the day with three dragons was doubtful, though Kel solemnly assured them it was true, but with her sisters newly warm to her and more gifts exchanged to delight the children it capped the happiest as well as strangest Midwinter Kel remembered since Yamani childhood.

 

* * * * *

 

The King’s Ball closed the celebrations as the Queen’s Ball began them, and Kel and the children received magnificent invitations more-or-less commanding them to attend. Her parents were suspiciously insistent all Mindelans go together and when she asked Wyldon what was happening he was irritatingly mysterious. When Lalasa brought her another new dress, in the same style and colour but more elaborately embroidered and in extremely fine wool—a gift from Thayet she could hardly refuse and was expected to wear—Kel started to feel quite cranky.

            She solaced herself by going to see the women she’d lent money. The children stayed with Kitten, disconsolate since Diamondflame’s departure despite his reported promise to return next Midwinter as she had made such excellent progress. The storm had stopped but the snow was too deep to clear, and its crust, melting in the bright sunshine that followed, refroze hard and icy each night so no-one was risking horses. Lalasa had walked to the palace, in excellent boots and a wool cape with furred hood that reassured Kel she was spending some money on herself, and they walked to the city together. Versions of what had happened at the Queen’s Ball had come to Lalasa’s ears, and after hesitant enquiries Kel decided at least one true one ought to join them, and was surprised by Lalasa’s practical reaction.

            “I’m sorry you experienced _that_ , my Lady, and to _die_ of it, well, that’s as bad as can be. But if being forced is a lot worse than some men are willing to admit, it’s doesn’t have to be the end of the world as others say either. I found that out thanks to Uncle Gower and you. And you’re here and alive doing a world of good, you seem happier, and the creatures who did it are dead, so I’ll thank the Goddess and Black God for preserving you. And set people straight. Did that Lord of Torhelm really say such a disgusting thing? I can scarcely believe it.”

            Kel had always suspected that Lalasa’s abuse by her family had included rape and found her strength in having recovered without divine aid deeply admirable. She said as much, bringing a flush to Lalasa’s cheeks, before confirming just how obscenely blasphemous Torhelm had been and that he’d been dismissed the council and banished court. Then she pushed conversation to what could be done for other women who fell victim, and they discussed healers and temple help that might be procured. Lalasa was sanguine but again unexpectedly cheerful.

            “It’ll never stop, my Lady, but the classes and other things have already made a difference. This tale will make more.”

            “What other things?”

            “Well, it’s not proper to say to you, my Lady, but the Rogue’s made it known he’ll act against anyone who forces a woman, and made an example of a man who didn’t believe him. _He’ll_ not be doing it again.” There was satisfaction in Lalasa’s voice, but she hesitated. “And you might not like this but I heard a story that a woman in trouble in a tavern shouted she was a Protector’s Maid and bought herself time to run. I’m sorry, my Lady—I meant it as a joke, but it’s spread and the women you’ve hired _do_ like it, so I’m afraid it’ll stick.”

            Kel shrugged. “If it has _that_ effect, Lalasa, good luck to it. The King made Protector of the Small an official title. I don’t know if it means anything, mind, and I’m not sure he does either—he was trying to hold the Queen’s Ball together after Torhelm was struck down—but I’m stuck with it so I might as well use it. And if that’s what these women want, that’s what they get.”

            Lalasa was pleased and Kel took advantage to press her again to drop the my-Ladying—meeting familiar resistance with a new suggestion for compromise, the Lady Kel standard at New Hope.

            “You know I’ve never been comfortable with noble address—it’s such a palaver—but I’ve grown used to Lady Kel from soldiers and it keeps things reasonable. Now they only my-Lady me when I’m cross with them or they’re up on a charge, so I’d much rather start off with these women as Lady Kel too and I wish you’d introduce me as that. It ought to be respectful enough for anyone who cares about proprieties, but it’s friendly rather than stand-offish.”

            Lalasa herself cared about proprieties in ways Kel had never understood but knew had to do with more than gratitude or protective vocatives that larded servants’ speech. Kel might think her as friend rather than maid but while Lalasa joyfully counted herself a friend also it did not displace awareness of noble status, and for all the personal confidence she’d found she remained in most ways far more conservative than Kel had ever been, imbibing a reasoned political liberalism with mother’s milk and diplomatic tolerance at her father’s knee. It wasn’t conservatism of Stone Mountain’s kind or Turomot’s, but it wasn’t much less suspicious of innovation than Wyldon and she gave Lalasa time to mull as they came to cleared parts of Palace Way and could walk faster.

            “Alright, my—Lady Kel. If that’s what you want it seems wrong to object thought I think it’s a dreadful liberty for those soldiers to call you by your name—a nickname too!”

            “Not really. When you fight alongside someone, or share latrine duty, or slog through mud up to your knees there’s respect enough without more formalities than are needed.”

            “Latrine duty? Why on earth would you be doing that?”

            “Oh, I put myself on all the rosters—it means no-one else can object and shows I’m not the kind of commander who won’t get my hands dirty. And rotating through once in a while, even now, keeps me on top of what’s happening—they’re more likely to make a request or a complaint if they’re working with me than if I tuck myself away in headquarters.”

            Lalasa nodded dubiously but Kel was saved further argument when they reached the first new premises, shared by a woman with a flair for cakes and pastries and her cousin, who made jams from every fruit and berry Kel had ever heard of and more besides. Feeling fatter and having placed a substantial jam order for New Hope, they went on to the doll-maker and collected one with hair red enough to delight Meech sideways. Kel tried to pay but was briskly refused, and as the woman had heard Meech’s story and said she was giving it to the boy there was nothing to do but graciously accept, and place another order for New Hope’s children. Kel did manage to escape gifts from a lacemaker, a woman who made window-curtains, drapes, and cushions, and a laundress specialising in finery who offered to have a go at her smoke-smutted dresses, but she left the last premises, an art shop, with a beautiful small drawing of herself arriving in Corus with Alanna and the children; it embarrassed her but she knew Tobe would love it. As she walked Lalasa back to her own shop she wondered how the artist, a young woman from the deep slum of Mutt Piddle Lane, could make a living.

            “The work’s beautiful, Lalasa, and she’s obviously very talented. I’m just surprised enough people would spend money on such a luxury.”

            “Oh, the drawings are only part of it, my—Lady Kel.” Kel grinned. “Tcha, I’ll get used to it. She sketches for me, to show what a dress’ll be like, and sometimes ladies ordering want a copy, a separate commission. She gets portrait work too, children mostly, and she’s a knack for faces. She’s done it for kin and friends since she was a girl, with charcoal, and been paid a little, so it’s just putting it on a proper basis.”

            Lalasa invited her in but Tom was there and the children would be waiting, so she declined and set off back to the Palace. People skittered out of her way, bowing, and she smiled back as openly as she could manage but made a point of standing aside herself for anyone burdened with children or elderly. On the snowy part of Palace Way she scooped up a crying little whose feet went from under him and presented him to the elder sister who came running back from whatever had distracted her; the simple practicality restored her good humour, and Tobe’s reaction to a picture that included him was all she had hoped.

            Dressing for the ball Kel was surprised and nervous when Irnai offered to duplicate Lalasa’s efforts with eye-shadow and turned out to have been given some by Adie, but the girl’s fingers were gentle and precise, the results just as good. The dress was also as splendid to wear as it had looked, and as they went to meet her family at her father’s office Kel felt as reconciled as she ever did to high festivities. At least the chances of anyone offering her insult this time were non-existent.

            Her confidence about that wavered when she realised Conal was present, but he kept aloof, nodding curt greeting and standing apart. Her parents’ dress surprised her—normally both wore either Tortallan or Yamani dress, but tonight her mother was in a new kimono-set, with the Mindelan owl and Seabeth-and-Seajen fouled anchor, while her father wore a rich Mindelan tunic and breeches. Her sisters and their husbands were also dressed to the nines, but when she managed to ask Orie what was going on her sister shrugged.

            “Your guess is as good as mine, Kel, but it’s plain Papa’s getting some honour—he’s been like a cat on hot bricks all week.”

            Ortien nodded. “There’s been speculation something’s due Mindelan, especially with Prince Roald’s marriage sealing the treaty, but I don’t think anyone knows except your parents and the King.”

            “Wyldon does but wouldn’t say.”

            Ortien blinked. “You’re on first-name terms?”

            “We’re friends these days. It’s nicer than being at loggerheads.”

            She left him nonplussed, to Orie’s amusement, and tried complimenting her mother, eyeing the kimonos, but received a wink and gave up, instead telling Adie about the new shops. Her sister nodded.

            “Yes, Tian was telling me. She says Lalasa has a suitor.”

            “Mmm, I met him—Tomas Weaver. He seems nice and she glows when he’s there.” Shakith’s assurances could stay private.

            “Oh. I’m pleased for her, of course, but a bit surprised. I thought she and Tian were, well, you know, together.”

            “ _Fujojoufu_ , you mean? I think they might have been at one time, when Lalasa was so nervous and could hardly bear to look at a man, but I don’t think it was ever a settled thing. And it’s harder here than in Yaman—more for men than women, I suppose, but still.”

            “That’s true. Merovec has a cousin who’s very unmarried and staying that way, and he gets quite bilious about it sometimes.”

            Kel glanced around but Merovec was deep in talk with Ortien and Conal staring into space. She kept her voice low. “You know, Adie, if there’s one thing conservatives have taught me it’s that they seem to link sex to _everything_. All else aside, did you realise how incoherent Torhelm’s insults were? It’s been the same ever since I grew breasts. And while they think nothing—or used to think nothing—of implying anything they dream up about me, if anyone suggested anything about _them_ they’d lose it completely.”

            “I don’t think that’s conservatives, Kel—it’s just men.”

            “It’s not Papa, Anders, Inness, or Avinar—only Conal. And not Raoul, Neal, Dom, or most of the men in the Own. It’s not Wyldon, either, so it’s not all conservatives but it’s definitely a conservative trait.”

            “Maybe. I do agree it makes no sense at all.”

            “Well, if you ever figure it out, let me know.”

            “Alright.” Adie laid a hand on Kel’s arm. “Kel, what happened to you—gods know I’m sick and sorry but it’s made you, I don’t know, sharper. You wouldn’t have said anything like that a year ago.”

            “I thought it, though. I’ve been through a lot, Adie, and, well, dying seems to put things in perspective. Doesn’t it sound absurd? But it’s as much the experience of war generally, and especially of command—New Hope has close to a thousand people now and a lot to get done.”

            “A _thousand_ people?”

            “Three companies, two of them regular with staffs, the clerks, and four hundred plus Tortallan refugees with the Scanrans and immortals. There’ll be more Tortallans in the spring and summer, almost certainly.”

            “Goddess! I hadn’t put it together.” Adie looked down. “Kel, I know Orie and I weren’t … we didn’t help you much with becoming a knight, and we thought it, well, foolish of you. It embarrassed us, if I’m honest, when we were hunting for husbands. But look at you now—you’ve done more already than any of us except Papa and Mama.”

            Self-consciousness warred with gratitude and Kel wondered what that had cost her sister to say. “I know it was awkward for you, Adie, but you stood up for me against people like that Doanna. And gods know what Lady Florzile will say now!”

            “She better hadn’t.” Adie’s eyes glittered. “And if she does I’ll ask her why she opposes the gods’ will when they’ve demonstrated it so spectacularly. She’s as rude as a Scanran at the best of times but not stupid or impious. She _was_ yacking on about Tirrsmont’s arrest though.”

            “Tell her Nond voted for an enquiry of noble competence, so she should take it up with him before she makes a fool of herself in public.”

            “He did?”

            “Yes, with both haMinch votes and Cavall, Haryse, Frasrlund—everyone but Torhelm and Runnerspring. Tirrsmont perjured himself to Turomot _and_ the Council and was caught red-handed.” Kel frowned. “Merovec and Ortien both knew Nond would oppose Tirrsmont’s grab for New Hope, so it sounds as if Lady Florzile’s not been keeping up.”

            “Kel, you’re priceless. Giving the old bat a set-down will make my week.”

            Lachran arrived, scrubbed and full of apologetic explanations about being caught up in training, and they headed for the Ballroom. Kel was surprised her nephew had been released—pages _never_ were merely to be with family, service being in high demand at events this big—and expanded her guesses about what might be happening. The servant at the door was the man who’d been on duty for the Queen’s Ball, who bowed to her, winked at Irnai, and again got the pronunciation right. They were in family order so only Lachran and the children were behind Kel, and by the time they entered everyone seemed to be applauding. She provoked a particular outburst but was getting used to it and with everyone in, her parents headed confidently forwards to an area below the dais where representatives of the realms’ great families stood around the King and Queen, seated with Roald and Shinko—Duke Baird with Duchess Wilina, Haryse’s cousin; Duke Gareth and Duchess Cythera; Lord Imrah, a widower; and Padraig; Duke Turomot was there, beside a table with paraphernalia of formal oath-taking. Everyone was in robes and Shinko in face-paint, but Kel could tell she was excited.

            When they were assembled and had made bows and curtseys Jonathan and Thayet rose.

            “My lords and ladies, honoured guests, we begin this evening with a rare and pleasant duty of reward. Everyone knows that my forebear  Jonathan I wrote in _The Scroll of Salute_ that four houses were the shield of Tortall—Legann, Naxen, haMinch, Queenscove—and it stays true. Duke Gareth serves me as his father served mine, and haMinchi lords hold Our northern border as they have ever done, too often, as now, against Scanran attack. In the Immortals War the greatest action was at Legann, where Lord Imrah was a tower of strength. And all know of the fearsome losses Duke Baird and Duchess Wilina sustained in that conflict, as well as His Grace’s outstanding service as the realm’s chief healer for more than thirty years. No praise can be too great.”

            All that was true, and if Kel hadn’t been as impressed with Duke Gareth as with the others she was happy to join general applause.

            “Yet those great houses no longer stand alone, for in Our reign another has risen to give the best service any king could desire. Though Mindelan was enrolled in the Book of Copper only three generations past none have done more in the last two decades. The painstaking work of securing Our Yamani alliance could not have been carried forward without Baron Piers, and though too few appreciate it without the great valour of Baroness Ilane, who slew Scanran raiders to defend the treasured Swords of Law and Duty, winning favour of His Imperial Majesty. And all know their labours culminated this year in the marriage of Our heir. And yet there is more.”

            All that was true too but Kel was getting the strangest feeling. That her parents deserved recognition she knew, and was delighted by it, but what the King had in mind she was less and less sure.

            “Baron Piers’s eldest daughter, Patricine, Lady noh Akaneru, herself made an important Yamani alliance, and stands high in His Imperial Majesty’s favour. Lady Demadria haMinch cannot be here as she is increasing, but Lady Adalia of Nond and Lady Oranie of Hannalof are here with their husbands. Lord Avinar is also absent, continuing his work at the City of the Gods where he too rises high. And beyond this, Mindelan has given four knights to Tortall in this generation alone, with another in training. Sir Anders and Sir Inness, absent directing winter defence of Mindelan, and Sir Conal, who is here, have each given most valiant service, Sir Anders at personal cost, and We have no doubt Sir Lachran will do the same when he shall join the roll. And there is Lady Knight Commander Keladry, who has already done more in this war than any other, rescuing hundreds of Our subjects foully kidnapped, slaying a vile necromancer, burning King Maggur’s own castle, and building in New Hope the finest strongpoint in many generations while pioneering treaties with spidrens and basilisks.”

            The last words were drowned by applause that the King let run its course before holding up a hand. Kel knew she was flushed and wished he hadn’t enumerated everything again; at least he’d left out the gods and her siblings had all been mentioned, though Conal was scowling and Lachran looked as if he’d swallowed juice to find it ardent wine.

            “Now, the rules of Tortallan nobility are … complicated.” Laughter murmured round the ballroom. “Naxen and Queenscove have been ducal houses for generations, and it has become veritable tradition for a Conté king to offer a haMinchi overlord the same status and be refused, the haMinchi lords preferring their unique clan system.” He didn’t need to add that no-one not a haMinch understood its finer points, and everyone called any adult haMinch ‘my Lord’ or ‘my Lady’ on safe principle. “Lord Imrah too has twice declined promotion, declaring himself content as Count of Legann and not wishing to be dragged away from his fief more than he already is. But We insist no-one be held back from honours rightfully earned, and it is my great pleasure to declare that with the consent of all here with Us, and of the Council of Nobles, Mindelan today becomes a ducal house, in recognition of its very great collective service. My Lord Baron, Lady Baroness, come forward.”

            Kel was dumbstruck as were the rest of the family, even Conal’s jaw dropping. In her wildest dreams she’d never imagined the King had such a thing in mind, but in some ways even stranger to her was the wild cheering that broke out. She knew Shinko was a darling and Roald’s marriage popular, so her parents, very much a public face of the Yamani alliance, were also popular, aided by their lack of noble arrogance; but what she hadn’t grasped inwardly, despite everything, was that above all _she_ was popular, the one great hero to emerge so far from the dragging Scanran War, whose deeds had tangible form in the dead killing device and rescued children; who was firmly associated with the burgeoning self-defence classes and new Protector’s Maids and walked respectfully among commoners on the streets; whom the gods themselves protected against the unspeakable slurs of a senior lord and his cronies. The core of the old nobility, standing with the King, were evidently content; new nobility saw the first dukedom of the Book of Copper as an affirmation of their own status; and city merchants and elders were more than willing to embrace any honour done Kel—so all cheered, loud and long, while Piers and Ilane signed the necessary documents, quieting only to let them kneel and swear new oaths of loyalty.

            “My Lords and ladies, honoured guests, I give you His Grace Duke Piers and Her Grace Duchess Ilane of Mindelan.”

            Cheering raised the roof but even so Kel heard a piercing trill of approval that could only be Kitten, bouncing beside a grinning Daine and Numair, and a deep rumble from Tkaa, standing beside them; perhaps fortunately, Kawit was still sleeping off her long talk with Diamondflame. Adie, Orie, Merovec, Ortien, Conal, and Lachran were dazed but the children seemed to think all straightforwardly in order, and Kel, stood in better stead than she knew by experience of walking in the lower city, was able to smile more naturally and prompt others to their own applause of her Mama and Papa.

            The ball that followed was for Mindelans if no-one else a very odd experience, with every encounter a cue for intense congratulations mixed with a degree of adulation that flummoxed all of them but that Kel and the children coped with best—if only because after spidrens, basilisks, stormwings, gods, and dragons, there was a limit to how overwhelming mortals could manage to be.


	12. Hardship

**Chapter Twelve — Hardship**

_January–February_

 

The aftermath of the ball was disconcerting. Although the family gained noble precedence only her parents’ styles changed—but as Thayet gleefully informed Kel at glaive practice her distaff border should now have a gold rim. Lalasa happily added one to the Mindelan sigil on her dresses and, sceptical of Kel’s skills with a needle, promised to do the kimonos if they were sent with the damaged finery; she did however supply enough gold thread for Kel to do her flag at New Hope.

            Then there were letters of congratulation. So many poured in that the interesting thing wasn’t who had sent one, but who hadn’t. Even Lord Burchard, whom no-one had seen since he’d staggered from the Chamber, sent a stiff note, as minimal as his apology, but still; Kel hardly expected one from Tirrsmont or Torhelm but did note without surprise that the conspicuous absentees among senior nobility were Genlith and Runnerspring. Among the letters were also, to Kel’s astonishment, a number requesting patronage or money. These she read carefully, but as all were from men she’d never heard of and offered neither reason nor detail she sent polite refusals. More difficult were two from complete strangers proposing marriage, apparently sincerely. They were the only romantic professions she’d ever received save Cleon’s, and deranged as they had to be she found herself contemplating them with something twisting in her heart. Several attempts at replies went into the fireplace before she found a brisk military tone to say that, as they’d never met and almost certainly had nothing in common, marriage seemed unwise, adding that if she might take the liberty of assuming the writers moved by patriotic admiration it might be better expressed by supporting the refugees she’d been fortunate enough to rescue.  Finishing, she nearly bundled all the letters into the fire but after some thought arranged them by subject and sender and filed them, thinking that if such correspondence continued she’d need a private clerk.

            In some ways more disturbing was the apology from Conal. Returning with the children from a visit to Kawit and Kitten on the day after the ball, she found her brother waiting, and when he declined to come in sent Tobe and Irnai inside. Conal was clearly uncomfortable but determined to do right by his own lights.

            “My Lord of Cavall informs me it is proven by truthspell Tirrsmont lied about what happened at New Hope. That he perjured himself and was beyond question himself the one to utter threats and obscenities. I apologise for not believing you, Keladry.”

            Kel considered him. “Thank you, Conal, but you didn’t give me a chance to say anything you didn’t believe—you assumed I was at fault.”

            “Tirrsmont swore it was true. I could hardly doubt him.”

            “I understand your logic but it depends on the person swearing having honour to swear by, and I’m sorry but Tirrsmont has none. Out of interest, did you know Sir Voelden tried to run me through during a tilt? He hit my breastplate and cracked a rib.”

            “He says it was an accident.”

            “He told me that too, but refused to swear it by gods’ oath. And this isn’t for public consumption, Conal, but thought it didn’t name Voelden the elemental of the Chamber said Joren paid at least one knight to try to kill me in the tilting lane.”

            “The _Chamber_ said?” Conal’s voice was incredulous.

            “The King will confirm it. We spoke to the elemental together the day after the Queen’s Ball.”

            Incredulity became bewilderment. “You and the King spoke to the Chamber.”

            “Yes. I can’t tell you what about, I’m afraid, but you must know the Chamber sent me after Blayce, and there was unfinished business.”

            “I don’t understand you at all, Keladry, and talking to the Chamber seems all wrong. But I am sorry I did not have faith in my own sister.”

            “I’m sorry about that too, but glad to be on better terms. I hate being at odds with family. Do you know where you’ll be going when the fighting starts again?”

            He accepted the topic gratefully. “Mindelan, so Inness and Tilaine can get away for a bit. There’s concern about another attack, though I don’t understand why Maggur should target us especially.”

            “I’m afraid it’s my fault—I did burn down his clanhome and as my report undoubtedly made its way to Hamrkeng he knows who to blame. That’s why New Hope is so fortified.”

            “Oh. I see.” He frowned. “Well, I hope you don’t feel guilty about it—we have to hit Maggur every way we can.”

            “Yes, we do. I just wish we could do it directly and not have to kill so many other people first.”

            “But they’re Scanrans.”

            “Many are forced to fight, Conal—Maggur holds clanchiefs’ wives and families hostage. I’m not saying he doesn’t have supporters but a lot of people who’ve died didn’t want to fight us. I’m tired of it. Tell me, how many men had you killed at twenty?”

            “Twenty? None, I don’t think. My first real action was later that year, when the Immortals War began.”

            “Huh. Well, I lost count this last year. It was a round dozen before I was eighteen, from hillmen to bandits and suchlike I fought with the Own. Then I saw action against Scanrans and by now it’s scores. I dream of their faces.”

            She wasn’t sure he understood at all, and not for the first time wondered if his problem wasn’t at root simply that the Mindelan brains had skipped over him, leaving his world an often fearsome and puzzling place. But they parted on better terms than for a long time, and if they’d never be as close as she was to Anders and Inness they were no longer enemies. Her mother was pleased to hear of Conal’s apology, if as surprised as Kel that he hadn’t made the connection between her report and the wolfship threat; but both parents were less happy about her determination to return to New Hope at the first break in the weather.

            Of that there was little prospect, however. The cold lingered with increasingly dirty snow, and in the north winter was by all accounts severe. Brodhelm’s reports by spellmirror to Vanget, an abstract of which he included in a summary relay to Corus, spoke of deep snow and bitter nights, sentries relieved half-hourly, basilisks helping keep stables safely warm, and retreat to the caves. Quenuresh and her kin had come in to a side-chamber in Immortals’ Row; the centaurs hadn’t but Whitelist had requested to use the corral and extra hay. Along the border the picture was the same, deep snow extending from Frasrlund east of Northwatch and south of Bearsford, and everyone hunkered down, preferably close to a fire. Geese and owls relaying information to Daine reported the same across Scanra, except the snow was even deeper, smaller rivers and lakes frozen, though the Vassa, thankfully, was too swift and turbulent for more than icy margins.

            Kel had never had real expectation of being able to return before February, and probably March, but found herself fretting all the same—as if there were anything she could do if she were there except shiver with everyone else. It had been the same last year, waiting after her Ordeal to travel north when the roads reopened, but then she’d had the puzzle of Blayce and logistical work with Raoul to keep her occupied. This year she had no distractions, and though she threw herself into glaive work with pages, forced indoors by snow, they had a curriculum Padraig had followed Wyldon in expanding to include more applied military history, tactics, and strategy. With Alanna Kel prosecuted her case for slingwork, demonstrating how effective they could be, and had the satisfaction of seeing the First Company of the Own make a start on basic skills and how slingmen might be deployed behind archers.

            The long wait gave time to do other things. Most importantly Daine agreed to boost Alder’s capacity. It took a long morning, with the tension of wild magic filling the air; Tobe found the process fascinating and to Numair’s surprise was able to perceive patterns in the magic that swirled into Alder. Irnai was less interested but absorbed by Kawit’s stories of life before her long nap—before the rise of the Thanic Empire, from the collapse of which Tortall, Barzun, Galla, Maren, Tusaine, Tyra, and the Bazhir tribes had emerged.

            Daine explained to Alder about barding, and once he’d had a few days to settle—“Just imagine, Kel, what it would be like to have one of the gods suddenly inflate your brain to work more like their own”—she saddled him, wrapped his legs against ice-cuts, and led him down Palace Way to Master Randall’s. As promised Wyldon came as well as Tobe, concerned with all things horse, and Irnai loved the bustle of the city. They mostly spoke of ordinary matters, Wyldon soliciting the children’s opinions of Corus, but when both lagged to watch a mule-train of kitchen supplies Kel thanked him for setting Conal straight.

            “He came to me, Keladry. He seems to have swallowed all Tirrsmont said and couldn’t make head or tail of whatever Runnerspring said happened. I can’t blame Sir Conal for that, I suppose—Mithros knows what he cooked up to avoid saying he’d been shown up as a fool.”

            “Maybe, but I’m afraid Conal’s not the sharpest knife in the box.”

            “He didn’t distinguish himself as a page.” Wyldon hesitated. “He seemed very ready to disbelieve you. Or disbelieve _in_ you.”

            “He got into terrible trouble as a boy for bullying me and he’s never forgiven me.”

            “Ah, yes, that can happen. The tower episode?”

            “You know about that? I didn’t think I ever told you.”

            “You didn’t—your mother did, after you rescued Miss Isran, because she was amazed you’d been able to descend the outer stair of the Needle. But I’d guessed there had to be something behind your fear of heights. You were afraid of nothing else.”

            “I was, though—I just controlled it. But with heights I couldn’t, until you made me climb that tree every day.”

            “Mmm, yes. You might not have realised it but I greatly admired your determination. Heights don’t seem to trouble you now.”

            “The Needle burned it out. I’ve never been so scared.”

            “But you went on—it’s all that matters.”

            Tobe and Irnai caught them up at the gates of the lower city, the guards all salutes. Seeing the way people nodded and stood aside, smiling, Wyldon looked at her with some irony.

            “Is it always like this for you now?”

            Kel sighed. “Seems to be. It’s embarrassing, but sweet I suppose.”

            “Sweet?” He shook his head. “You have the oddest ideas.”

            “Do I? It’s nicer being liked by people I’ve never met for things I have done than hated for things I haven’t.”

            He gave her an old-fashioned look but took Alder and the children to the stables while Kel ducked in to find Master Randall. He greeted her enthusiastically, offering congratulations and asking she relay them to her parents, before summoning an assistant to fetch barding to the stable. He greeted Tobe and Irnai easily but bowed to Wyldon.

            “My Lord of Cavall. Is Alder one of yours? I thought he might be.”

            “Good day to you, Master Randall. Yes, Alder’s from my stud. Lady Keladry’s horse was badly injured and I didn’t want her without a good horse.” The assistant came with shaffron and crinet, leaning them against the wall before heading back for the rest, and Wyldon went across to lift the shaffron, turning it.

            “It _is_ light.” He rapped the armour. “Hmm. Have you done tests to see what it does and doesn’t stop, Master Randall?”

            “I have, my Lord. If you’d care to step through …”

            Of necessity all armourers had a small range, here set between main buildings and stables; snow had been shovelled aside. As well as the usual targets there was a pocked sheet of Carthaki metal, and they stood back as Master Randall took a longbow and selected a broadhead.

            “This is just twenty-five yards, and with a full draw, aiming as square-on as I can …” The arrow zinged into the metal, stuck for a moment and fell to the ground. “Some stick and enough point goes through that the horse would feel it, though it shouldn’t be a serious injury. You have to be at under twenty yards or using a needlepoint to do better, and if the angle’s off even slightly …” He moved to one side, aiming a needlepoint at the other side of the metal sheet, and the arrow screeched off to land in the snow pile. “…they don’t stick at all. And I ask you, my Lord, how often d’you get a square shot in battle?”

            “Once is enough, though, on the receiving end. What about bolts?”

            “Same thing, allowing for range.” Master Randall swapped longbow for crossbow. “Straight on a bolt _will_ punch through at up to about thirty yards, though it loses a lot of force—but a good bolt’ll go through plate the same way. And at an angle …” He aimed across the target as before, and the bolt clanged off into snow. “You see? If you’ll excuse me while I retrieve arrows and bolt …”

            He went to do so and Kel looked at Wyldon, eyebrows raised.

            “Mmm. I’m half-persuaded—deflections are useful, certainly. Let’s see how the barding fits. Alder may not like the shaffron at all—I didn’t train him with one and they often dislike anything on their heads.”

            “Oh it should be alright—Daine’s told him about the barding and Tobe’s here to interpret.”

            Wyldon blinked. “She _told_ him? And he understood?”

            “So she said. She’s taught him all the voice commands I used with Peachblossom so I’ve no need to spur him, ever. And she made him, well, smarter, so he can understand what Peachblossom can tell him about how I fight with the glaive.” Kel peered at him. “You did know she magicked Peachblossom when I first had him? He’d been so badly treated his mouth was ruined and he has the rowel scars still.”

            Master Randall returned and they followed him back to the stable, where the complete barding waited, Alder eyeing it.

            “I didn’t but I should have guessed. I confess I wondered how you managed him. But you can’t have known Daine then, surely.”

            “Neal introduced us. He had a terrible crush on her.”

            “Huh. Queenscove.”

            His tone spoke volumes and Kel grinned, but as she’d predicted there wasn’t a problem. Alder understood the barding was to protect him and was eager to co-operate. There was a tailored blanket to protect against chafing of which he approved, and the lined shaffron fitted perfectly over head and muzzle. The crinet round his neck was no problem either, but when the peytral was added he snorted.

            “He says it hangs too low,” Tobe reported. “If you stand back, Master Randall, he’ll show you.”

            The armourer looked startled but did as asked, and Alder promptly reared, striking out with one hoof and making the peytral jump, scales ringing, then dropped and reared again, striking with the other. The peytral jumped and rang again.

            “It’s blocking his kicks. He can’t aim as high as he’d like and says he’d be lucky to get a tall man in the chest. The head would be out of reach and he thinks that’s the best shot against someone in armour.”

            “Ah.” Master Randall was evidently bemused but nodded. “May I approach him again, Tobeis?”

            “Yes of course. He was only showing you.”

            The armourer cautiously studied the bottom of the peytral and the ruffled hair on Alder’s forelegs. “Mmm, I see. I need to take off one row of scales? Or two? Does Alder, ah, have an opinion?”

            Tobe looked at Alder, holding up his hands with a slight gap and then widening them. “More like two, I think, Master Randall.”

            “Right.” He scratched his head plaintively. “Can we try flanchards?”

            The side-pieces were unproblematical, fitting perfectly around the saddle, but the crupper nestling round hips and croup had the same problem as the peytral. With due warning from Tobe, Alder again demonstrated, kicking out and the crupper jumped and rang.

            “About the same to come off then—two rows. I’m sorry, my Lady, I hadn’t allowed sufficiently for kicking out. Do you, ah, find you need to do that often? I only fought on foot.”

            Kel considered. “Not that _frequently_ , Master Randall, but quite _often_ in some kinds of combat. It’s not just on the battlefield, when sword- or axemen try to get in behind to hamstring, but if you encounter foot soldiers on a narrow trail.”

            Wyldon harrumphed. “Not that you should be leading patrols any more. It can happen on any journey but you shouldn’t be on point.”

            She gave him an old-fashioned look of her own. “I don’t, my Lord, but we’ve only four knights at New Hope—three until Seaver returns—and I can’t not be available if knights are needed. It’s not just being antsy behind a desk.”

            “I suppose not.” He frowned. “Do you need more knights? Vanget, Goldenlake, and I are still arguing what to do with this year’s crop.”

            Kel thought. “One might be useful—Prosper, maybe, as he has some Gift. But without knowing the force mix against us it’s hard to argue I’ll need more. This year it was light stuff, except for the tauroses—the same old hit-and-run. But with the losses we handed them with slings and arrows I don’t think they’ll keep on with that. If they’re serious about New Hope they’ll need to put a real army in the field and then the knights are only useful to cover the initial retreat. The problem with the defences being so strong is we can’t sally.”

            Wyldon nodded. “Yes, alright—good analysis. Knights will be more use with a relieving force but I’ll put it to the others about Tameran.” He smiled. “I don’t imagine Goldenlake will oppose you and you’ve already twisted an entire company out of Vanget.”

            “Will I keep them once I’m back, though?”

            “Unless there’s good reason they’re needed elsewhere.”

            “Mmm. War’s full of good reasons, though.”

            They became aware of Master Randall’s interested audience and he hastily held up a hand.

            “I’ll not say a word, my Lord, my Lady. But forgive my fascination—having served in the Tusaine and Immortals Wars I’ve some idea of the problems you face. I’ll say also, my Lady, that I knew about your mission of course, and it was plain you must be a leader to follow, but I’d not realised you were the kind of commander you’ve just shown yourself.”

            To Kel’s surprise Wyldon smiled. “Your discretion would be appreciated, Master Randall. And never underestimate the Lady Knight. I did for years but learned in the end, and now she keeps us all on our toes, from His Majesty down.”

            Kel glared but Master Randall smiled. “I bet she does, my Lord. Now, young Tobeis, is the total weight alright for Alder, or does it need to be reduced? There’s not much I can do but there are a few places scaling could be stretched and some removed.”

            Tobe consulted. “He says it’s alright, Ma, but his top speed will be down and his daily range limited.”

            “It’s not for travelling, Tobe—only combat near New Hope. But lighter is always better, Master Randall, so if there _is_ anywhere scales could be thinned without leaving real vulnerability I’d prefer that.”

            “Right you are, my Lady. It’ll be ready day after tomorrow.”

            She gave him a letter instructing her goldsmith-banker to pay his bill and they headed back, stopping for Irnai to buy ribbons and a book about pre-Thanic history that raised Wyldon’s eyebrows.

            “Kawit’s been telling me about it,” Irnai explained, “but she was mostly in Carthak and didn’t see much of the north. She didn’t pay a lot of attention to mortals either, so I wanted to fill in some gaps.”

            “Ah. I see.” They returned to the street, where Tobe was holding Alder. “Or rather I don’t. That dragon _remembers_ pre-Thanic history?”

            Kel nodded solemnly. “Kitten woke her from a two-thousand year nap, Wyldon. When she, um, nodded off, the Thanic empire hadn’t even started. You got into it discussing the timeway, didn’t you, Irnai?”

            “Yes. Kawit didn’t see it create any of the present but did watch it quite closely then because the Carthaki empire was becoming inevitable. I know what Diamondflame said but weaving’s the image that works for me—all threads pulled together, but what you get depends what’s on the shuttle.”

            “That makes sense, except for the threads moving about and the loom thinking for itself. Is Tkaa going to ask her to help teach pages?”

            “We didn’t talk about that. We’re coming to that pastry shop.”

            “So we are.” Kel ruffled Irnai’s hair, and they stopped at the shop with a sign that said _Maranie’s Pastries & Rebekah’s Preserves_ and underneath Protector’s Maids. Kel purchased an assortment of gooey delights and forced an apple tart on Wyldon, having everything packed in boxes so she could fit them in panniers and save Maranie’s boy a slog to the Palace. As they went on Wyldon was thoughtful.

            “Does Protector’s Maids refer to you?”

            She explained and he studied her with a look she couldn’t fathom.

            “Astonishing. I’ve been thinking about what you do, Keladry, and it’s not radical innovation—you put together what we have in new ways. You did it with the Chamber, in building New Hope, this metal for barding, getting Daine to explain to Alder, and with these women.”

            Tobe had been listening. “And griffin-bands and slings, my Lord. Ma’s got a good head on her shoulders.” His tone was sagacious and Kel laughed despite her embarrassment.

            “Have I, you little ruffian? Alder’s down to you as much as Daine.”

            “He’s right, Keladry. Your thinking is fresh. I believe it’s what’s made you effective against Maggur—he’s an innovator too, however horribly, and old ways won’t do against him. It explains something about how challenging—and rewarding—people like myself and Vanget have—”

            Kel felt a sliding blow on her back and staggered as Wyldon broke off, whirling.

            “Stop that man! In the blue jacket—stop him _now!_ ”

            His voice cracked command and heads snapped round. The man trying to dodge sideways into an alleyway found his way blocked by a burly fellow and turned but slipped. By the time he’d scrambled up Wyldon had a dagger at his throat and people converged, the burly man and another seizing his arms.

            “Keladry, are you alright?”

            “I think so.” Kel felt her back and found a long slice in her jerkin, feeling scored metal within. Automatically her eyes searched for the children, wide-eyed but sheltered by Alder. “Yes—the jerkin turned his blade. I’m fine, Tobe. Stay there for now.”

            “You tried to kill the Protector?” The burly man’s face was red and Kel saw anger on many faces. “You piece of scummer.” A large fist drew back and Kel’s own voice cracked.

            “Hold! We need information, not revenge. I want Guards here now.” She pointed. “Fetch the Lord Provost, please. And you, ask the gate sergeant to send five men with a shackle. Go.”

            They went, and Kel walked forward to see the man who’d tried to kill her. He was dark-haired and swarthy, with a look of the south-east, and Kel’s heart sank. Before she could say anything he spat at her feet and people at the front of the growing crowd shouted rage.

            “Hold!” Her mind churned. “He failed and we have him—his manners don’t hurt me. Does anyone know him? Hold him up so everyone can see.”

            Cursing, the man found himself roughly lifted and turned back and forth, but no-one claimed knowledge of him.

            “Take a good look, please—details as well—and start asking around. Who is he? Where’s he been living? What’s his story? If anyone learns anything, tell a Dog or send to the Lord Provost.”

            Some people obeyed and those that remained quieted, though their eyes were unforgiving. While she was speaking Wyldon had examined the slice in her jerkin and his face was dark with anger.

            “He’s got a blade somewhere. Hold him tight, you two, and someone hold his legs.” Two men came forward and Wyldon searched carefully, removing two thin daggers from concealed belt-sheaths and another from a boot. “Thank you. You can let his feet go.” He looked at the weapons. “The boot-knife is Pearlmouth work—Gull Armoury. The others are assassin’s weapons without marking.” He glanced up. “It’s a good thing you were wearing that jerkin, Keladry. Were you _expecting_ this?”

            “No—I just believe in being prepared.” Resting a hand on his arm she lowered her voice. “Not here, Wyldon—there’s obvious possibilities and only one is Maggur.”

            He looked sick. “Yes, I see.”

            Men from the guard came jogging up, one carrying a shackle, and by the time the man was chained, hands behind back, the Lord Provost arrived with an escort, looking alarmed. Gorwin of Coas Wood had held the post some years, but Kel had only met him properly at the Queen’s Ball; Wyldon tersely explained, showing the slice on Kel’s jerkin and giving him the daggers.

            “An assassin. Huh. Who wants you dead, Lady Keladry?”

            The crowd had stood back from the guards but Kel kept her voice low. “Maggur, if we’re lucky. If not, Tirrsmont, Torhelm, Runnerspring, Marti’s Hill. Genlith, maybe. That’s why I sent for guards as well as you, my Lord. You’ll need Sir Myles also.”

            He stared. “You really think …”

            “I know who’s threatened me with death and worse, my Lord.”

            “I’m afraid she’s right, Coas Wood. We should adjourn somewhere private, and that man belongs in the King’s dungeons, not your kennels.”

            “I need to take the children home, Wyldon. Can you—”

            “You should have an escort.”

            “I’ll come with you myself. The guards can bring him to the Palace.”

            They assembled themselves, Kel taking a moment to thank the crowd and ask them again to share the man’s description and find where he’d been staying. She gave the children hugs, assuring them she was alright and letting them look at the jerkin.

            “It makes the precautions worthwhile, doesn’t it?”

            “Why, Ma?” Tobe’s voice was wavery. “Do you know that man?”

            “No. He’s probably hired. It could be Maggur, or someone I’ve offended here, like Tirrsmont.”

            “But he’s in prison, isn’t he?”

            “He has a son and friends. We’ll find out. Now, let’s get back—we’ve those pastries, remember.”

            The food was a good bribe but they stuck close, looking anxiously around even after they’d left the crowds behind, and Kel silently cursed whoever had hired the assassin.

 

* * * * *

 

The flood of letters didn’t stop and Kel decided she really was going to need a private clerk. Whether people would send such letters to New Hope she wasn’t sure, but even there she’d be receiving more reports from Lalasa and her new maids, and fitting in private paperwork between training and command staffwork wasn’t her idea of what to do with her little free time. Whoever she chose had to be discreet as well as efficient and willing to come north, and after racking her brains she consulted her father. He rolled his eyes in sympathy, indicating piles of correspondence on his own desk and clerks scratching away in the room beyond, and did know someone who might suit—a young woman at Mindelan whose parents had died in a shipwreck, and who’d been raised as a baron’s ward. She was clerking for Anders, more as something to do than because there was real need. Kel accepted gratefully, but refused his offer to pay her wage—ducal promotion didn’t translate to any immediate increase in revenues and did bring extra expenses.

            “It’s alright, Papa. My purses would cover it easily, and Lalasa tithes far more than I use. The new shops seem to be doing well too—that might slow down, when the fuss dies, but it’s fine.”

            That he didn’t press the point told her she was right about drained finances, and she had a quiet word with her mother about accessing her funds at need. Ilane was distracted by the attack, furious and fretting, but as she took in what Kel was saying she frowned. “Kel, sweeting, that’s all the wrong way round. We’re supposed to support _you_.”

            “You do, Mama, and have for ages. I’m happy to pay something back, and I’ve plenty. I’ve not used up the money paid after Joren’s trial.”

            “But it’s yours, sweeting. It shouldn’t be for setting up Mindelan as a duchy. With Alanna and Raoul giving you armour and horses you’ve cost us nothing next to your sisters. It wouldn’t be right to take your money.”

            Kel knew her sisters’ and Avinar’s educations at the City of the Gods had been expensive, and the need to provide three dowries in rapid succession very difficult indeed, but she didn’t want to go there.

            “Actually, Mama, I think it’s Lalasa’s but I’ve argued till I’m blue and she won’t budge, so it might as well do something useful. Treat it as a free loan—the goldsmith has instructions to let you draw whatever you ask and tithes will build up. Have you seen how busy they are?”

            The conversation was steered away from difficult territory, and Kel left with the double satisfaction of having procured a clerk and done unexpected good. Her meeting with the King and Lord Provost two days after the attack was less satisfactory.

            “The assassin was a Pearlmouth man, Keladry, hired in Torhelm by someone who sounds like Lord Angors’s steward, two days after his return. Who the orders came from we don’t know yet but Guisant _has_ to be doing the talking—ha!—and the fool seems to have put out a story that _you_ attacked his father. The fief is very tense, apparently. I’ve sent Lord Imrah with five squads of the Own to arrest the steward and both Torhelms. He’ll make an announcement backed by gods’ oath of what happened to Torhelm.” He scowled. “Odds are it’ll mean another noble trial and you’ll be back at New Hope long before that can happen, so you’ll need to leave statements with my Lord Provost. Meantime, I’m thankful you wore that jerkin. Did you _expect_ an attack ?”

            “I wondered if Maggur might think an assassin cheaper than assault so I got jerkins. Numair warded my rooms and gave us bracelets to detect poison, but there’s been nothing like that.”

            The scowl became ferocious. “I should hope not. But I can’t fault your caution when it’s proven so wise. You’re far-sighted, Keladry, _and_ devising your own answers again without fussing—it’s commendable.”

            The Lord Provost nodded. “Indeed. I’ll send a man to take statements, my Lady. We’ve already taken one from Cavall.”

            “Of course, my Lord. May I ask if you’ve learned anything about where he’d been staying?”

            “Yes, thanks to your request of the crowd—good thinking, that. News went through the lower city like wildfire and the sun hadn’t set before an innkeep in Cherry Street came forward to say he had a guest matching the description, and another staying with him. By the time we got there the friend had fled—he used South Gate, heading west.” The roads to Torhelm and Runnerspring lay that way. “We searched the rooms but there wasn’t much beyond spare clothes. The assassin did have the gold he’d been paid on him, though.”

            Kel wondered what her life was worth. “How much?”

            “Ten gold nobles, and two for expenses.” The Lord Provost winced at her expression. “I know, my Lady, but it’s a lot to a man like that.”

            “Yes. Still, a man like that … um, I realise this might be awkward, my Lord, but have you asked the Rogue if he knows anything? I’ve been given to understand he supports the women’s self-defence classes so he might take an interest in this.”

            “Hmm, yes. I heard about that, too. Interesting. Enquiries _are_ being made. The Whisper Man deals with that side of things, though.”

            Kel nodded, wondering again if Sir Myles’s anonymous deputy really was Alanna’s husband, as Neal intimated. “Good. Is there anything else you wish me to do, sire?”

            “Keep being careful, Keladry. And head back to New Hope as soon as there’s a break in the weather. It’s absurd that you’ll probably be safer in a warzone than here, but at least there the threat’s open. And if we do end up trying one or both Torhelms as well as this steward and the assassin on what will be capital charges there’s going to be high feeling. _Against_ the lot of them, mostly, but it’s going to be messy all the same. Who’ll be travelling with you and the children?”

            “I hadn’t got that far, sire. No-one else is scheduled to return to New Hope except Seaver, when Tasride can spare him, and some soldiers I gave leave for family business, but they’re all at their homes away east and as I didn’t know what the weather would be doing they won’t be overdue until April.”

            “Well that won’t do. I’ll put a Rider Group on standby.”

            “Thank you, sire—that’s a boon. I’ll have hired packhorses so we’ll not be moving fast and support will be helpful.”

            “Packhorses? What for?”

            “The barding I’ve bought Alder, mostly, but the children have new clothes and things as well.”

            “Oh, yes. Lord Wyldon mentioned that barding—sounds useful. Well, take what you need from the Palace pool and ask Stefan Groomsman to detail an ostler. He can come back with the Riders. And get these statements done as soon as you can.”

            “I can send a man today.”

            So Kel and the children spent the afternoon telling an efficient Provost’s Dog what each had seen, and showing the mended jerkin, followed by anxious days confining themselves to the Palace enclosure before Imrah returned with only two squads. He had Torhelm in custody but the steward and Sir Guisant hadn’t been found, and he’d put the fief into royal administration pending resolution—not easy as Torhelm couldn’t speak. Imrah came to see Kel after the King and sat brooding by her fire, pocked face set in a scowl.

            “Torhelm’s a mess, my Lady—Angors doesn’t seem to have any proper administration and Guisant or that steward deputised for him with a rod of iron. When I announced there were warrants out for both there was dead silence, then wild cheering, and when I told ’em what actually happened to Angors half of ’em went straight to the nearest temple to give thanks. I arrested him as much to get him out of there and keep him safe as anything. It’s a bad business.”

            “Do you think the fief’s been maladministered, my Lord?”

            “Undoubtedly. But _two_ enquiries of noble competence would be very awkward, and if Angors or Guisant did order the assassination, which I don’t doubt, treason has precedence. Even Carolan can’t dispute that.”

            “Will he try, my Lord?”

            “Just Imrah, if you will. You’ll be on the Council shortly and all those vocatives take too much time. And yes, he probably will. He didn’t use to be this stupid but he’s always hated Thayet and Yamani alliance, and his idiot son being banished has backed him into a corner. But he won’t get anywhere—the logjam on the council’s well broken, thanks to you, Vanget, and Cavall, and with the gods fresh in everyone’s mind there’ll be no mercy if charges are proven.”

            Kel found the prospect disturbing. “It’s Kel, then, Imrah. And gods know, I didn’t want any of this. Did the King tell you what the elemental said about Joren’s death?”

            “Yes. It’s the same, isn’t it? Paying others to attack you. Filthy business. Do you think Burchard’s involved?”

            “I doubt it—he’s trying to be civil, despite his obsessive grief—but I get the impression he’s … withdrawn. But I don’t know about Genlith—especially if he did order the attack that freed Vinson. That’s treason already, and so’s sheltering him, if he’s back home.”

            “Mithros, yes—I’d forgotten that. Anyone else?”

            “Voelden, maybe. Both Grotens and Heathercove loathe me. And Marti’s Hill, perhaps. I’ve never met the lord—saw him a few times as a page—but Quinden knows I was responsible for the report that got him dismissed. Vanget says he swore vengeance.”

            “Does he? Hmm. The Grotens and Heathercove are stupid enough for anything. Marti’s Hill’s no fool, but he is narrow, and Quinden’s his only son. There’s bad blood between him and Ferghal haMinch, so he’ll take Vanget dismissing his son as more of that though he must know the boy’s a lazy fool.”

            “Vanget never mentioned that.”

            “Why should he? It wasn’t his quarrel and he takes people as he finds ’em. Always has. It’s Quinden who’ll have seen it as victimisation.”

            That fitted what Kel knew of her incompetent yearmate, and she sighed. “Yes, he will. He never thought anything was his fault. And the elemental said he has a streak of treachery but scraped by as a fighter because with a war on we need knights.”

            “I didn’t know that. Treachery?”

            “Mmm. If Wyldon ever put him under my command during exercises I had to put him somewhere harmless. He’d let the opposition sneak up without raising the alarm—that sort of thing. Only against me—he was a crony of Joren’s and Vinson’s and used to say a woman’s place was on her back. He despises commoners too—even the refugees were hiding money, according to him, and ought to have it shaken out of them.”

            “Gods, what a picture. Alright, Kel—noted. And don’t look so glum—it’s not your fault though I bet it seems like it. Half this stuff goes back to Duke Roger—everyone you’ve mentioned backed him and didn’t like Alanna killing him one bit. Either time.” He grinned. “They also backed that mad Rittevon princess as Jonathan’s bride, a proper—what’s that word? _Luarin_ , I think—someone fair-skinned, anyway, of what they call the ‘right stock’, so they’ve always been against Thayet as a foreigner, and Shinkokami. You’ve just become the focus for everything.”

            “I know. Even the gods, apparently. It’s … irritating, actually.”

            He laughed. “I bet. But I’m glad it’s you. Gives me hope. We depended on Alanna twenty-five years ago and it’s done us a power of good. Seems right we should depend on you now, but it has to be hard as old oak for you. So don’t worry about what happens here—we’ll sort it one way or another. And if there’s anything I can do, shout. Is there?”

            As taken aback as embarrassed, Kel forced her mind to work. “Thank you, Imrah. Um. Maybe. I’m trying to get New Hope trade, so we can be less of a burden, and there’s a merchant who’ll be sending a man to see our stuff—Master Orman?”

            “I know him. Good man. What kind of stuff?”

            “Fine basilisk stoneware, to start. And maybe old webbing.” She laughed at his expression and explained. “Sea routes make sense for stoneware, and if we shipped Mindelan to Legann …”

            “With breaks on duty at both ends—I can do that. Makes for profit too, in the long run—set you up and if trade flourishes we’ll do well anyway. Gods—spidren web to Carthak. Whatever next?” He chuckled. “Tell Orman to contact my port factor—he knows him—and we’ll better anyone else’s deal on goods from New Hope.”

            “I’ll do that. Thank you.” His generosity made her think. “May I ask something? Why did the Council think I wasn’t trying to claim New Hope for myself? Duke Gareth seemed to find it very odd.”

            “Gary would—he’s a cynic at heart. But I understood your argument. I’m not sure you’d do the same if you were twenty years older, mind, and I’m inclined to agree with Alanna and Cavall you’re the outstanding candidate and would help secure that border once we’re rid of Maggur. But you’re young yet and very good-hearted, and you don’t want to think about fighting for gain. Why d’you ask?”

            “Because I think of it as my command but I realise I’m treating it like a town and a fief, not a refugee camp. It’s … confusing.”

            “Mmm. It’s what good commanders do, same as a fighting squad becomes family. But other people have put you on top of a political moment. Your actions, too—you’ve struck the most telling blow of the war so far, and by answering Tirrsmont so decisively, never mind Angors, you’ve shown yourself far more than a commander, invaluable as those are. And then there’s your, what, touch? Whatever it is that’s had the New Hopers writing those depositions, and immortals trusting you, and enabled you to set up all these shops. You’re just doing what you do, I know, but it’s all working and echoing, so it builds. If you survive you’ll be ennobled in your own right—face that squarely—and New Hope’ll be the obvious fief for twenty excellent reasons. So what it adds up to is your reluctance does you credit and the King ignoring it’ll do him credit.”

            Kel blinked. “That makes my head hurt. I’m right to resist _and_ he’s right to overrule me?”

            “Yes. Welcome to the places where honour and politics meet. Make yourself comfortable—you’ll be here as long as you live. Now, can I see this barding? I’ve had three good horses killed under me, and anything that saves me a fourth has my vote.”

            Kel blinked again, appreciating Imrah’s candour and priorities, and took him to Alder’s stable.

 

* * * * *

 

The cold lingered through January, so Kel and the children spent Imbolc with Daine, Numair, Kitten, and Kawit, dragging parents and sisters to the heated stable to see the opal dragon light scores of candles with a waved paw, and hear her start the traditional tale-telling of Imbolcs past with a memory no-one was going to match by tens of centuries. But when the weather did finally break, mid-February, it broke dramatically, a great wave of warm air thick with desert dust and grit billowing over Corus and far north, leaving everything a dull ochrous yellow. Rising as usual before dawn and hearing drips, Kel dressed swiftly and went to the Riders’ quarters and stables before returning to pack and gentle the children awake. Before most people were up they were on their way with the riders of Group Askew, no less than four pack horses, load well distributed so they wouldn’t slow the party, and two ostlers Stefan said needed the exercise.

            The journey was without incident but strange and in differing ways difficult. As far as Queensgrace they were under the dust storm, and came to hate the slushy, abrasive mess it made of the thaw. At the first Royal wayhouse Kel requisitioned a bolt of rough cloth, and they wrapped the horses’ fetlocks and cannons. Thereafter they spent time each night drying wraps while Tobe did his best to ease the chafing sodden cloth caused even as it protected. He didn’t have Zerhalm’s skill, let alone Daine’s, but had developed enough healing talent to do a world of good and worked conscientiously. Irnai had no such outlet, but made herself useful helping rub down horses and care for tack.

            Though Rider Groups often joined the Own and Kel was half-familiar with many this was the first time she’d ridden with a single group, or in a military party evenly divided between men and women. Amid the misery of the dust she found herself fascinated by the easy mutual joshing of the Riders, sometimes blue and often funny. It made her think about the pages she’d been teaching, especially the present first year, with three girls out of seven. There would be no comparison between their experiences and her eight years as the only female page or squire, and while she wouldn’t go back for the world she did feel wistful at the difference even one female companion would have made.

            In Queensgrace Kel considered avoiding Alvik’s inn but there wasn’t much choice and Tobe reluctantly agreed to put a brave face on it. The fat innkeep’s face grew sour when he saw who it was, but he’d heard enough stories about the Protector that when Kel, consciously in command mode, required stabling, food, and lodging for twenty on the King’s business he jumped. As they were removing cloth wraps and rubbing down the leader of Group Askew, Miri Fisher, sidled up to her.

            “I take it you don’t care for Alvik, Lady Kel. Any particular reason? He’s been odd this year but I’ve never seen the old goat jump like that.”

            Brushing Alder more vigorously than was needed Kel told Miri how she’d come by Tobe, and (carefully not naming Neal) what an offended mage who’d seen his brutality had done to him. Miri stared.

            “Like the Chamber did to that Vinson fellow?”

            “That’s where the idea came from, I think.”

            “Ouch. I knew the man was an old lecher but I didn’t know he was like _that_. D’you want me to pass word?”

            Kel shook her head. “Not unless he tries anything with Tobe. And if he does he’s mine, and mincemeat. Tobe doesn’t want to make anything of it—just to forget, I think—but I’ll not stand any nonsense.”

            “Got it, Lady Kel.”

            Either bully’s cowardice ran true or Alvik simply knew which side his bread was buttered, and was as obsequious in manner as his eyes were spitting dislike the while. He also had the sense not to try anything with Tobe, fawning or bullying, and kept himself out of sight as much as possible. Even so Kel and Tobe were glad to be away at dawn, but thereafter the cold and unmelted snow increased remorselessly, and by the time they reached Bearsford March was only a day away and the problem no longer dust but slogging through snowdrifts in the teeth of a constant, lazy wind. After they’d settled themselves in the _Drunken_ _Carter_ with much needed stew, Kel called everyone together and asked Ranarl, the former bowyer who ran the inn, to attend too.

            “Tomorrow’s going to be brutal, people. It’s thirty-some miles from here to New Hope, so we’ll probably camp out tomorrow night. And I’m guessing that while the Great North Road won’t be too bad the Greenwoods trail will have deep snow.”

            Ranarl nodded. “We’ve seen folk from Mastiff, Lady Kel, but none from New Hope since the snows.”

            “Thank you. So we’ll be breaking trail. Alder can do a lot but are there horses we can hire? Big ones? The Riders will bring them back.”

            “I’ve a couple of plough horses and some heavy horseblankets. No tents though, and it’ll be bad cold in the Greenwoods.”

            “Thank you, Ranarl—that’ll help. There’ll be plenty of deadwood but we’ll need kindling and oil, and we’ll have to pack food with something to heat them in. Milk and water too, and grain. Everyone dress double, even treble tomorrow—I’ll be wearing everything warm I have, even if it makes me waddle—and we’ll aim to be gone an hour before dawn. Ranarl, can you do big breakfasts for half-an-hour before that?”

            “No problem, Lady Kel.”

            There were groans from the Riders and Miri stood. “You heard Lady Kel, boys and girls—sound advice all. We’re in a warzone, in case you’d forgotten, so deal with weapons now. Make sure bowstrings are good, blades clean and dry. Then get some sleep—and no canoodling. Save it for peacetime because you’ll need the energy.”

            Remembering what Raoul had told her about problems when men and women in the same Rider Group became lovers, Kel was surprised  and quietly asked Miri if it was an issue.

            “Not really, Lady Kel—it used to be, before the men were used to women who fight and don’t have families watching them like hawks, and it can be with new recruits who’ve never been in mixed groups. But they’ve learned to keep bed and battle separate. I only mentioned it because Marna and Forlan are at that will-we–won’t-we stage, and getting close to we-will—but not tonight.”

            Kel supposed she and Cleon had been at that stage for a while before it had become we-won’t. “My understanding was out-of-date. Raoul warned me when I was a squire that a woman getting involved with a man they had to command tended to work badly.”

            “He’s right, but that’s command. And it’s changed fast—I’ve been a Rider thirteen years now, and everyone was jumpier when I started. More so for you, I imagine, as a knight.”

            “You could say that. As a page, if a boy was in my room the door had to be open, and vice versa, on pain of dismissal. And though Raoul was nicer it wasn’t that different in the Own, but I was the only woman.”

            “Gods. Wouldn’t have suited me, Lady Kel.” Miri flashed a grin. “But that was before Evin and I got together.”

            Kel went to bed envious of Miri’s ease. She knew Riders didn’t train in the same way because they didn’t wear full armour or joust, and the older woman was smaller and curvier, but it wasn’t only her own body-shape that was the problem, or even the malevolent desire she seemed to rouse in men like Torhelm; there was her awkward self-consciousness about her difference from what the men she’d been attracted to had wanted. Yuki’s peppery plumpness had sent signals to Neal her muscular stoicism never had, and Dom was all for slim ankles and well-filled gowns. Drifting off, she wondered how he was and realised she’d not seen Duke Baird since the King’s Ball; perhaps he’d gone to Masbolle.

            She woke to breakfast smells and they were on their way within the hour, finding the Great North Road better than hoped. A mule train had been somewhere recently—Mastiff, she presumed—and the snow in the centre of the roadway was packed down. In the pre-dawn dark it was slippery with ice, but as the sun rose the going became easier and they made excellent time through the morning. The halt for lunch was brief but even so it was mid-afternoon when they came to the southern end of the Greenwoods valley. The sun had disappeared and the wind was picking up; they were in for a bad night—worse if a blizzard got going. The snow in the valley lay deep and undisturbed, only the lie of the land telling her they were in the right place. Without the river, swift even this close to its source, following the trail would have been guesswork.

            They reorganised themselves, Alder taking point, the two plough horses behind to widen the trail he blazed. Nowhere was the snow less than three feet deep, with drifts twice that, coming well up his chest. Even this late in winter it was powdery and the horses were able to thrust it aside, but progress was slow. Each half-hour Kel rotated them, letting the plough horses take point in turn, but as the light began to fail the distant bulk of the fin told her they were still five miles from New Hope. The wind was gusting unpleasantly, and it was clear they’d have to push on in the dark, guided by the noise of the river—but the horses needed rest and food did no good until it was in their bellies. Alder had broken through a deep drift into an area of shallower snow, and woodeaves were close, so with the ostlers and Tobe she got the horses and ponies standing together for mutual shelter and fed them oats while Miri took ten Riders to collect deadwood.

            This far from New Hope there was plenty and they made smaller cooking fires and a large one for warmth. Group Askew had a mage, Anya, to start them, but without dry kindling and oil she’d have had a hard time of it; sheltered from the wind by people and horses, Irnai emptied tubs of stew into one cauldron and melted snow in the other before adding soup balls and vegetables, courtesy of the innkeep. Hot food cheered everyone. They’d packed loaves that careful turning by the fires warmed into pliability, and ragged slices mopped bowls nicely.

            “I know we’re tired, people—horses too—but I think we have to push on. I don’t like this wind and if it’s going to blizzard we need to be as close as possible before it gets bad. Anya, can you cast light?”

            “Some, Lady Kel, but not much nor long. Emergencies or obstacles, yes; continuously as we ride, no.”

            “Fair enough. Let’s take brands then, and light those lamps. Miri, can you see to that? Tobe, tell the horses there’s shelter in five miles. Everyone else, get packed and sorted.”

            It didn’t take long with the wind to encourage them and after kicking snow over the embers they set off again. The area of shallower snow wasn’t bad, and the next two drifts wide but not too deep, Alder forcing through without difficulty, but the third, a mile and some on, was higher than his head and only lessened perilously close to the river. With Miri holding an almost exhausted brand and Anya casting light Kel led Alder carefully off the trail until the drift was low enough for him to see over the top. He peered, gave her a long-suffering look and set to. Kel made the others wait, stamping feet and swinging arms, and when he’d made it half way through she backed him out, taking one of the ploughhorses in to break the rest of the way.

            Eventually they were able to regain the trail, and for a long stretch going was better though the wind gusted with unpleasant strength. As she clomped along Kel realised the snowscape must be an effect of the fin, channelling wind from the long fetch up the valley to heap what fell beyond into drifts and troughs. There were still two miles to go and she feared there would be at least one more drift, bigger still—a foreboding confirmed as a great white slope reared ahead, spicules streaming from its top. It was tall and steep enough to make going over impossible but did create a sizeable lee. When they were all within it, huddling, Kel and Miri made sure everyone could still feel toes and fingers, while Tobe and the shivering ostlers gave the horses the last oats.

            “If we stop at all we stop here—there’s no better shelter. But if we tunnel through this one we should be within a mile or so of the bridge.”

            Tired as they were no-one wanted to stop, so Kel used Alder to break a trail into the drift until it reached head height, and then with the Riders’ trenching shovels they took turns scooping and chopping. It was exhausting in thick clothing and they rotated every five minutes, those not at the front helping pack down snow shovelled back. As the tunnel lengthened and the lantern became a necessity, Anya used tiny bursts of power to ice walls and roof, inhibiting collapse. Near the centre of the drift the overburden made for harder, compacted snow, safer but more tiring to dig. Miri was taking a turn when she called for silence. Everyone stopped, but faint noise continued.

            “Lady Kel, I think someone’s digging through from the other side.”

            Kel’s mind kicked into gear. “I’ve no idea who or what but no-one at New Hope could see us on this side of the fin, so assume hostiles. Back out everyone. Blades loose, bows strung. Miri, stay until you think they’re close so we have warning.”

            Horses and children went to one side, and Riders arrayed themselves to cover the tunnel, Kel crouching with the lantern to give Miri light. Tension rose but it was only minutes before she came back.

            “They’re close enough I could hear voices, but I couldn’t make out the language.”

            Kel left the lamp where it would show whatever came out. “Miri, have five Riders turn their backs. If we’re watching that lantern we’ll be blind to anything that comes any other way.”

            “Right.” She gave orders, and Kel set herself in the middle of the semi-circle. She didn’t have her bow but Griffin was loose in its sheath and her glaive in hand. It seemed a long time before they heard snow fall and a voice exclaim in a language Kel didn’t know but recognised.

            “Who is there?”

            “Protector? Is that you?”

            This time the call was in Common and Kel relaxed slightly as Whitelist came into view, a bow in his hands with an arrow nocked but pointing down. He wore a heavy jacket over his human parts.

            “Yes, with the children and a Rider Group. Bows down, everyone.”

            “We are sheltering herds in your corral and saw fires up the valley.” He came to the mouth of the tunnel and scanned them before calling. “All’s well—it’s the Protector with a small party. Clear the tunnel.”

            “We owe you a debt, Whitelist—it’s been harder going than I expected with these drifts.”

            “It is a small return for food and shelter that has kept our herds alive. As we did not know who was coming we preferred to find out. Come, the way is clear.”

            The horses weren’t keen on the tunnel but with Alder leading and Tobe to persuade they passed through. The centaurs’ tunnel was more impressive than their own—higher and wider, snow packed hard and flat at the sides—and as Kel emerged she saw why. The centaurs on the far side had boards strapped to jacketed arms, and could tackle snow with horse legs and bulk and human dexterity. The end of the fin loomed to their right, and white water gleamed in the rapids; the wind was fierce.

            “We will return to our mates, Protector. The way is clear to the stone bridge, and while there is drifting on the way to the moatbridge it is not bad—the wind is too strong there for much to accumulate. Your people have kept the way to the gate clear, when the wind does not do it for them, so you should not have trouble.”

            “Thank you, Whitelist. You’re doing alright yourself?”

            “We are. The cold does not bother us though snow is a nuisance.”

            “Alright. Thank you again. If you come up in the next day or two I have news about possible trade you might like.”

            “I will do so. Farewell, Protector.”

            They cantered downtrail, scoured almost clear of snow, evidently heading for the stone bridge themselves. Wearily everyone remounted, the ostlers tying the plough horses on the string with the pack animals, and they set off, Kel and Miri leading with the children behind them. Wind aside, it was the easiest part of the journey since they’d left the Great North Road and once they crossed the Greenwoods and were close to New Hope’s glacis they moved out of the gusts funnelling past the fin. Kel was glad to see that despite conditions sentries were alert, and as they crossed the moat mage light flared above the gate.

            “Who goes there?” Mikal’s voice was a stentorian bellow and Kel grinned, raising her own to the pitch that cut across a battlefield.

            “Lady Kel and Group Askew, Mikal, back from sunny Corus.”

            He was waiting in the gateway, sword drawn until he could see them clearly and be sure there was no illusion. Then he ordered the gates opened properly, light spilling out.

            “You must be frozen, my Lady. We weren’t expecting you for a month at least.”

            “Long story, Mikal, that can wait. But get food for twenty cooking, please and have someone sort barracks for the Riders.”

            He gave crisp orders and soldiers went running. Seeing the Honesty Gate Kel fought a quick battle and took the only proper option, halting under the lintel to state her name and benevolence to New Hope. As the children followed her cue curiosity outweighed any resentment and Group Askew passed through quickly enough with the ostlers, all looking around with astonishment at the vista before them. Snow lay thickly and was heaped on the green, but paths and shelf had been shovelled clear and crystal magelights glowed softly along the inner wall and wherever main paths met. In the innermost corner an odd light gleamed against the cliff, and though Kel knew it was from a hidden magelight outside the cave entrance it looked beautiful but eerie. Miri came up beside her.

            “This is an amazing place, Lady Kel.”

            “It’s home.”

            Kel spoke without thinking, but saying it she knew it to be true.


	13. Assessment

**Part IV – Ostara**

_March – June 462 HE_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Thirteen — Assessment**

_March–April_

 

The Riders were welcome company for people who’d seen no strangers for three months, and stayed a day to look around and recuperate. Giving them the tour Kel was astonished by how much had been achieved. The crystal lights were courtesy of a Company Fourteen mage, Varik, who had a strong light spell, basilisks, who’d petrified ice, and Quenuresh, who’d taught Varik to set his light into crystal; but if they were the most obvious change they were not the only one.

            Retreat to the caves had focused energies on how best to use them and there were a host of improvements, besides babies that had been born. Magelights hung everywhere on webbing, floors had been levelled, passageways widened, and food storage areas had rock shelves and curtains; another hung across the main entry. The prison-cell had been excavated on the side towards the fin and equipped with a massive iron-banded door; if Kel sincerely hoped she’d never have to use it she was comforted to know there was somewhere secure at need. The enlarged loom chamber remained the centre of gossip, repainted in cheerful colours, floored in wood, and provided with a small fireplace and range for making tea and snacks; without a chimney only the driest wood could be used, but the stack in the first chamber had seasoned well.

            Progress on the lookout post exceeded Kel’s best hopes. The spiral was complete, opening into the crack that led to the cliff-face, but they had waited to do more until Kel could decide what exactly she wanted. Kuriaju and Petrin, leader of the miners, showed her, receiving warm congratulations with embarrassment on Petrin’s part; whether Kuriaju’s deepened blue was an ogre blush Kel wasn’t sure.

            “The question, Lady Kel, is how we shape the opening.” Squatting, he pointed. “It’s wide but not high, and its upper edge is a natural arch. The roof there is also arched, and I do not think it good to change it.”

            “Me either, Lady Kel.” Petrin cupped his hand, palm down, showing her. “As it is it’s strong and good, but if we mess with it we’ll need a _lot_ of shoring and bracing and it’ll never be as safe.”

            Kel considered. “What about the floor? Can you lower that so there’s a … parapet, I suppose?”

            Ogre and miner exchanged glances, and Kuriaju nodded. “I don’t see that would be a problem. The projecting shelf that hides the opening from below is formed by denser rock, and we would only be cutting into that. How big should the chamber be?”

            “For up to four people, with blocks for heating.”

            “That’s alright.” Petrin scratched his chin. “So we’re creating the chamber by dropping the floor, what, four foot. Mmm. Do you want a little guardroom as well? Back from that arch roof there’s no difficulty.”

            “Um, alright. But only to make tea or heat a snack, _not_ big enough for a bed—there’s no point providing temptation.”

            Petrin grinned. “Right you are, Lady Kel.”

            “Make it so we can hang a curtain across the access. We don’t want cold wind blowing right into the caves.”

            “Of course.”

            “And keep the access wide enough for only one person at a time—one being, rather. Gods know I’m not expecting anyone to have to defend themselves here but there’s no point needlessly forgoing any advantage.”

            “That makes it easier.” Kuriaju smiled. “We are glad you’re pleased. It was interesting to cut the spiral and it is good to have a lookout.”

            So it was—but the other excavation was altogether more uncertain. The immortals had been enlarging quarters at the back of the first chamber, towards the fin, as a space for Quenuresh and her kin but in the process come to the fin itself and made a discovery. Its hard rock had been a natural barrier, and except for the gallery they hadn’t cut into it at all, but here, deep underground, they found a crack running through it, as if a great wedge had broken away, settling deeper while the rest stayed in place. The smallest adult spidren had squeezed in and explored, reporting that she thought it ran clean through the fin but a large chamber in the middle blocked the way; she could see the crack continuing on the far side.

            “I think it is from water that found some weakness there and has hollowed it over centuries.”

            Kel and Brodhelm were standing with Kuriaju and Petrin in Quenuresh’s chamber and peering at the crack.

            “Could it be bridged?”

            “I see no reason why not.”

            “And on the far side we’d come out _inside_ the corral?”

            “I do not know how high the ground is on that side. You would have to measure and survey.”

            “Mmm.”

            In one sense it was gold, for if they could make a passage to the corral it would be possible to sally. In another it could be terrible weakness, for a way out was a way in, and all New Hope’s defences would do no good if there were an open back door. Thanking spidrens and others Kel and Brodhelm retired to her office.

            “I’m in two minds about this, Brodhelm.”

            “I’m in three, my Lady.”

            Kel raised an eyebrow. “Sallying, a back door, and what’s the third?”

            “Safety—that central chamber sounds a hazard. And the effort it’ll take. That fin is hard—the gallery has taken months and this would be massively larger. Is it the best use of our miners?”

            “I don’t know. What else would you want them doing?”

            “Well, the lookout post. And if we need one secure cell we might need more.”

            “True. But the lookout won’t take much longer, and it’s the priority until it is. And that central chamber might be an opportunity as much as a problem. I’m sure bridging it would be hard but a bridge can have mageblasts, and if there were a defensive position on _this_ side of it …”

            “No-one would be coming in. I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

            “It’s only an idea. But I don’t think we can afford to ignore a chance to create a sally port. It’s bothered me most—even before we use the roadway pits we’re locked into defence, and once we do we’re trapped.”

            “What did you do at Haven?”

            “We had a hidden sally port like the ones at Mastiff and Steadfast. Daine insisted so horses could get out, and Numair concealed them so only a black robe could find them. There was one at Giantkiller too.”

            “I only knew about Mastiff’s. Could Master Numair help us here?”

            “Maybe, if he comes this way. Daine’s pregnant, so he may not be travelling. He did want to see the skullroad, though.”

            There was silence as they mulled it.

            “You want to do it then, my Lady?”

            “I think I do. One horse high and wide, with every defence we can think of—bridge, barred iron gates, and defence points where anyone with a crossbow can shoot from good cover. We’ll have to do something about the corral too—better walls with alures and a moat, for starters. And a proper gatehouse.”

            “There’s no spring there to feed the moat. Stagnant water will freeze in winter and won’t be good in summer.”

            “Mmm, but that ground slopes a bit. We’ll dig a sough connecting with the Greenwoods at each end, to fill and drain. If we get it right it’ll look after itself, the way the main moat does.”

            He looked at her admiringly. “You’ve answers for everything. Shall I organise a survey once the weather’s broken? We can’t start here until Quenuresh goes.”

            “Please—but we’ll need somewhere else spidrens can use at need, so we can start on that. And if Whitelist comes up, as I asked him, we can assure him he’ll have winter use. I was surprised by the help he gave us coming in and I’d like to cultivate that goodwill.”

            So plans were drawn up, and if Kuriaju and Petrin muttered about finrock Kel thought they were pleased to have another large project. She was pleased herself but decided not to say anything to Vanget before it was clear whether it would work and how long it might take.

            There were simpler pleasures of reunion. Jump and the sparrows were overjoyed to see her and Tobe, and both woke each morning with company; Kel found herself accompanied everywhere by Nari, eager to bear messages. Peachblossom and Hoshi were equally pleased and let her know with horsehair and slobber. The gelding’s leg was less painful as bone knitted, and he had continued night rounds; but both horses were bored and eager for spring. They welcomed Alder with startled looks as his new intelligence registered, and Kel left them to gossip.

            Yuki, visibly pregnant, was more restrained, as befitted a Yamani noblewoman, but very happy to see Kel and said so several times. Her health was good, her pregnancy progressing well, and she was happy with Neal, but she’d felt very isolated in Kel’s absence. The refugee women were friendly and, Kel knew from Fanche, liked Yuki, appreciating her hard work and skills and her reserved manners, but Yuki didn’t have the touch Kel did. Given her Yamani rank her contact with anyone outside noble circles except servants had been limited, and with Tortallan commoners she was not only unsure how to unbend but deeply uncertain whether as the wife of a ducal heir she ought to do so, torn between Kel’s example and awareness that not everyone approved; she also had her standing with Shinko as Crown Princess to consider. Kel sympathised, privately thinking she was worrying too much but knowing well what it meant to have a friend of the same sex to whom you could talk; she was also very aware Yuki didn’t need to be at New Hope, and had come as much for Kel as to be with Neal. In consequence, after passing on Shinko’s greetings and love, Kel learned more about pregnancy and its irritations, inconveniences, and joys than she wanted, but thought it a small price for Yuki’s company.

            Neal and Merric were also delighted and peppered her with questions about everyone they could think of. Some she answered promptly, assuring them Owen and Prosper had passed their Ordeals with the other squires, and soberly relaying to Neal the letter from Dom, Duke Baird’s concerns, and the possibility the Carthaki metal would make a light enough brace. Other news she wanted to deal with only once and kept back until she took advantage of Quenuresh’s presence to call a second meeting of the Council. Kel started with Tirrsmont having been caught lying and facing an enquiry of noble competence, but got no further for several minutes while the mortals, military and civilian alike, exclaimed satisfaction. Eventually she put on a half-stern face.

            “There’s a good deal more, and I’d like to be done before next week so hold discussion until afterwards, please. Now, _that_ news I’ll announce this evening—the former Tirrsmonters need to know. The rest is also public but whether you share it is up to you. I shan’t be saying anything.”

            As barely as she could she told them about Torhelm and what had happened, adding in a flat voice what only Neal, Brodhelm, Uinse, and Quenuresh knew but she’d declared to everyone at the Queen’s Ball; her parents’ new status as the first ducal house of the Book of Copper; and the knife attack with its fallout at Torhelm and that fief’s placement in royal administration. Before their eyes could stop widening or their hair subside she went on to the expected arrival of Master Orman’s man, trade opportunities, and the fact that they’d be enjoying reduced port duties at Mindelan and Legann. Finally she added with a welcome sense of mischief that she’d offered a treaty to the stormwings who’d tracked her from Rathhausak, and they _might_ receive visits from eighteen- and eighty-five-foot dragons to whom she’d extended invitations. The profound silence when she stopped was broken by Neal gently banging his head with a hand, and more seriously by Quenuresh.

            “Protector, life has not been this interesting in a _long_ time. Which stormwings, please?”

            “The Stone Tree Nation.”

            “You spoke with Barzha Razorwing?”

            “I did.”

            “May I ask the terms of the treaty you offered?”

            “They roost here safely, we give them assistance with, um, egg-laying and care of their littles as needed, and they slay nothing nor play with any dead thing in this valley without my let. Oh, and Barzha can join this Council if she washes before meetings.”

            Quenuresh hissed laughter. “Priceless.” Her expression stilled. “And a very interesting move. You seek to constrain the timeway.”

            Kel shrugged. “I don’t think I can, but I’m playing the odds, yes. Shakith’s given no sign of disapproval to me or to Irnai.”

            “Nor will she, I think. Which dragons?”

            “Kawit Pearlscales and Lord Diamondflame.”

            Quenuresh showed real surprise. “Ah. Kawit is the opal dragon who came here four years back from Carthak?”

            “Yes. A very nice being.”

            “Opal dragons usually are. Diamondflame is another matter. May I ask how in three realms you managed to encounter _him_?”

            “He came to Corus to visit Skysong. He’s her grandsire.”

            “Ah. And what does he want with New Hope?”

            “The skullroad. He told me about the original, and the dragons he called Flamebreath and Golden Eggs.”

            Quenuresh hissed more loudly, making Nari peep. “Astonishing. But you say he _may_ come?”

            “He said he was going to see what Rainbow Windheart thought.”

            The spidren shook her head admiringly. “Protector, you do not do things by halves. For those here who do not know we are talking of the two oldest and most powerful dragons alive. Rainbow Windheart has a hundred centuries under his wings and governs the Dragonmeet. And Barzha Razorwing is as old as I. So we have gods, mortals, People, basilisks, spidrens, ogres, griffins, and centaurs, and may gain stormwings and dragons, or at least their blessing. I begin to understand why the timeway rests so heavily on this place.”

            No-one else did except, dimly, Kel herself, and neither she nor Quenuresh were saying more. Instead, after telling Quenuresh that her parents sent formal thanks and would like to forge a treaty with spidrens at Mindelan, she turned the babble back to Master Orman.

            “I had an idea about that. Fanche, I’d like to commission the finest dinner service our wood turners can make—the thinnest wood, most beautiful grain, plates in different sizes, jugs, the lot—and another only slightly less fine. And Var’istaan, I’d like to commission the basilisks to petrify them as superbly as you can. The best one will be a late wedding present from New Hope for Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami, the other a gift for Lord Imrah, who’s doing us a considerable favour. Both will naturally display their gifts and it should set up demand for our wares. Oh, and Quenuresh, I don’t know if you like Carthaki cheese but Master Orman thought there might be a trade for webbing to seal against dust as well as winter trade in Yaman, northern Tortall, and Galla. I didn’t think you’d mind getting money for old rope.”

            “Indeed not.” 

            “Good. And I don’t know what if anything the centaurs might want to trade for or offer, and I want as many arrows as they make, but that bit of news I’ll be passing to Whitelist too.” She stood. “I’ll leave you all to digest. I have a doll to deliver.”

            She was half way to the door before Merric found his voice. “Kel, you _can’t_ just leave it at that.”

            “Watch me.”

            “But ... you said you …”

            “Yes, I did. See you all at dinner.”

            She closed the door, blew a long breath—discussing one’s own death was _absurd_ as well as embarrassing and she’d done it enough for two lifetimes. Virtuously she went to find Meech, whose incredulous delight at his new doll’s fiery hair was balm to her heart.

 

* * * * *

 

Only discipline had Group Askew, with ostlers, packhorses, and plough horses, on their way south again after only a day’s rest, but it was good they went when they did for by nightfall there were snow flurries and by dawn a full blizzard. The wind was still north-east, whistling up valley and, with the channelling effects of the fin, glacis and palisades spared New Hope the worst of it, though eddies and gusts could always catch one unprepared and nothing stopped snow accumulating steadily on the main level. Weary from her journey, Kel watched with satisfaction as routines Brodhelm had worked out swung smoothly into play.

            The caves remained warm and everyone bunked there, spreading palliases by night throughout the first, loom-, and what was starting to be called the look-out chamber, and stacking them by day. A tented latrine area was established near the entrance, and buckets emptied into soil carts parked on the level ground outside to await proper disposal; the dogs and cat were conscientious about going outside. Mining work accelerated, with more hands to haul cut stone or willing to set to with pickaxes, if only to avoid boredom; looms clacked busily from dawn to dusk, and practice drills were held in the first chamber. The stables and tented animal pens had to be kept heated, using basilisk blocks, and food was taken in the messhall where Weiryn’s godlight took the edge off the cold; paths could not be kept clear but a squad with boards strapped to their boots tramped down snow.

            The established Haven practice of older caring for younger kept children safe and entertained, though Tobe and Irnai could have managed it themselves with stories of events in Corus—less about gods than dragons, stormwings, and royal balls, with the great snowfight and Kitten’s triumph. The bustle of the city also figured, and listening one afternoon Kel was surprised—pleased—to discover both children had understood how the Protector’s Maids scheme worked and were regaling a fascinated audience, including adults, Amiir’aan, and spidrens, with a catalogue of shops. What anyone made of Irnai’s stories of pre-Thanic history was moot, but Kel had a conversation with Neal that left them in stitches imagining the effects of some informed comment, tradesman to scholar, about events barely in the oldest books.

            On the military side double shifts based themselves in the gatehouse and rotated duty on the alures half-hourly. There were also, Kel found on a shivery inspection, heated blocks along the alures, supplementing braziers; in mid-shift St’aara or Var’istaan, unbothered by cold, made a circuit to reheat them. Sentries also had curiously oversize helmets, with thick linings and the oddest fronts—a fine meshed structure that kept snow out of their eyes, instantly melted flakes, and somehow allowed vision while deflecting wind. It was, Brodhelm informed her in a carefully neutral voice, petrified webbing Quenuresh and Var’istaan had devised, and ensured each sentry could see as well as possible. Deeply thoughtful, Kel sought out the immortals to thank them and ask how it was done.

            “It is not difficult, Protector. Our webbing naturally resists wind and water, and you have had basilisks petrify so many things it seemed sensible to try. The mesh is finicky, easier for smaller spidrens, but straightforward in itself and good exercise for the young.”

            Var’istaan nodded. “The rock spell must be precisely used to retain the webbing’s virtue and more power is needed for anything imbued with immortal qualities than for wood, but any adult basilisk could do it.”

            “Mmm. There could be considerable demand, military and civilian—anyone in a snowstorm would want one—and I’m wondering if you’re happy with that and if so how to handle it. Mortal practices of manufacture and trade have a lot of custom and experience, but there aren’t any models for immortal trade, let alone joint ventures. And if there _is_ high demand and low supply we need to be careful about price.”

            There was a pause while the immortals looked at one another. Eventually Quenuresh gave a spidren shrug.

            “For all our centuries, Protector, you have the advantage. Neither in the Divine nor mortal realm have I ever engaged in trade of this kind, but it is part of living in peace with mortals, and I welcome it.”

            “I too.” Var’istaan’s whisper was definite. “This is an interesting place with much to do. In the aftermath of the Immortals War we have found it difficult to find ways of interacting peacefully with mortals and New Hope has been a very good experience. I cannot speak for her but I believe St’aara wishes to stay with Amiir’aan—if you will also remain. Is this only while this war lasts or are you thinking beyond that?”

            “Beyond. Tell me, do you think more of your own kinds will come?”

            “I believe so. There are not many basilisks in the mortal realms but Tkaa has spread news of this place, and those within Tortall and its immediate neighbours are interested in what is happening here.”

            “The griffins have carried word, and I have had enquiries from other spidrens, but—forgive me—most have been preying on mortal livestock and are concerned about their safety from your laws.”

            Kel thought hard. “That I can deal with, Quenuresh. The king gave me power to make decisions about immortal treaties, so I can say if _any_ immortal coming here is willing to sign and faithfully abide by a treaty, we won’t ask where they’ve been or what they’ve been up to. A clean slate for the past, not a license for the future. Their governance I leave to you, so long as nothing contravenes our existing agreements.”

            “Very well. I will let that be known, but the wood will not support many more spidrens and we cannot live on cheese alone.”

            “We can work out where else we should designate—the valley to the east is within the military zone, unclaimed by any fief, and uninhabited except for itinerant trappers. You’d need to co-exist with them. As for the rest, we ought to get Kuriaju in on this, but it’s been made clear to me that with peace New Hope will become a fief, and if I’m alive to claim it, granted me. I’m not easy about it—I wasn’t thinking in those terms—but whatever happens it makes no sense to set up anything that’ll have to be changed. So we need a way to protect everyone’s interests—yours as craftsbeings—and New Hope’s as a community.” Kel sat back and counted on her fingers.  “You need to be able to control how much work you accept, so the burden doesn’t fall too heavily on any being and younglings are protected. We need to be clear about what we can and can’t offer, what any given thing will or won’t do—if any magical element is permanent, say, or will need renewing, and how fragile anything is. And we all need to be clear about how money or barter works—how much goes to the maker, or seller if someone else handles that, how much is tithed to New Hope to support things the realm is presently paying for. I think we should apply to the King to charter a Craftsbeing’s Guild. Will you consult your kindreds and Kuriaju, and speak to Idrius? He’s the only person here who’s a guild-member, the Furtraders’, and he can explain better than I how one works. Then we can decide what we want, and send papers south when roads open.”

            She left them in what was for immortals animated discussion, pleased with the many possible benefits and the thought of Turomot’s face when those papers made it to his office. Kuriaju was at work on the look-out post but Kel found Idrius talking to weavers and seamstresses, and warned him what was coming, leaving him enthusiastically jotting down ideas. The savage beating Stenmun had given him had left nothing of the overbearing merchant Kel had once had to have stocked, and his knowledge was a resource she’d no intention of wasting.

            The storm lasted five days, dumping feet of snow, but proved the last fury of winter. Almost as soon as the north-easterly wind died away it was replaced by a mild south-westerly blowing down valley; the sky cleared and air and sunshine between them had enough warmth to start a thaw. Improved drainage showed its worth as drifts melted away, and over the next week the Greenwoods rose in roaring spate: the rapids all but disappeared beneath the flow and the ford vanished under torrents churning wildly over the rock shelf to foam through the  arches of the stone bridge. Colour returned to the valley fitfully, then in a rush as snow slid to expose grass and scrub. It was an exhilarating week, and as soon as fields started to emerge Adner had parties out to gather root-crops, with the soldiery happy to get back to guarding and patrolling.

            The thaw brought other visitors—a supply train from Mastiff to add welcome variety to their diet, trappers wanting to exchange or sell furs, and Whitelist, fulfilling Kel’s request and reporting the centaurs would move their herds out as soon as the river went down. Kel gave him some of the new food and explained the trade she was trying to cultivate. His initial wariness had ebbed, and he proved interested, going off to talk to the other immortals. On the best morning yet, the sun giving real warmth and slopes dotted with early flowers, Kel was contemplating paperwork and stroking Nari’s head when Jacut stuck a pale face around her office door, eyes wide.

            “Lady Kel, there’s a bunch of stormwings circling in the valley and one shouted they want to talk to you.”

            “Good—I’ve been hoping they’d show up.”

            “You’ve been _hoping_ …”

            Kel grinned. “Yes. It should mean they’ve agreed to a treaty and will leave our casualties alone. Send someone for Sir Neal, please, and for Brodhelm, Quenuresh, and Var’istaan. Gatehouse roof.”

            Shaking his head he went, and Kel collected unguent from her rooms, dabbing her nose and offering it to Neal when he caught up with her as she climbed the path to the shelf.

            “What’s up, Kel?”

            “Barzha Razorwing, I hope. How’s your stormwing pregnancy care?”

            “Mithros! I’ve no idea.”

            “Well, Daine says the problem is large steel eggs and no hands, so basic stuff should make a big difference. I’ll ask Barzha to explain whatever she can, and you’ll need to make arrangements to provide, um, eggwifery as needed.”

            He was still spluttering as they emerged onto the roof, Quenuresh and Var’istaan close behind; Brodhelm was already there, and Kel passed him the unguent. In command mode she shouted for all sentries to hold fire, then went to the parapet and beckoned the immortals turning lazy circles or riding updrafts by the fin. There were at least twenty-five but only a half-dozen responded, gliding to perch on merlons—Barzha, Hebakh, the Yamani female, looking fatter, and the three who’d been with their queen at the palace. The mindless terror massed stormwings could induce flickered in Kel’s heart, but she controlled it and, thinking of Barzha’s response when they last met, gave her a short bow.

            “Greetings to you, Queen Barzha, and to you Lord Hebakh, and all of the Stone Tree Nation. Be welcome to New Hope.”

            The queen’s voice was ironic. “Greetings to you also, Protector of the Small. Being welcomed by mortals so politely is a new experience.”

            “I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Your Majesty. This is Sir Nealan of Queenscove, our chief healer, and my second, Captain Brodhelm of Frasrlund. I don’t know if you know Quenuresh and Var’istaan.”

            “Sir Nealan. You are important to us. Captain Brodhelm. Quenuresh, Var’istaan—it has been a long time.”

            Mortals, spidren, and basilisk murmured responses. Kel wondered how many immortals knew one another, but supposed if you’d spent millennia in the Divine Realms together the answer was probably most.

            “Have you decided to accept the treaty offer? I have the King’s authority to implement it.”

            “Still so direct, Protector. It is most un-mortal. Yes, we accept your offer, but only while this war lasts. What will come after none know.”

            “Excellent. I’ll have documents drawn up. If you return in three days we can make the necessary mutual oaths. Meantime, roost where you will in the valley, and I’ll give orders none molest you—pass that word, Brodhelm, with some sting. Please don’t annoy the griffins, and be aware the centaurs are using the corral but are usually at the southern end of the valley. Is there anything you need?”

            Barzha shifted, steel talons grating on the stone. “We have one with egg. Your promise of care is in part what has decided us.”

            “Right. Neal?”

            “Um … Your Majesty, I have delivered human children but never, ah, attended a stormwing. And I do not know whether my healing Gift or mortal medicines will, um, work.”

            “It should, Sir Nealan.” Quenuresh came forward. “As the healing Gift with the People, like Zerhalm’s, can be effective for spidrens, so the healing Gift for mortals should be effective for the human parts of a stormwing, or centaur. Herbs are variable—many will work but doses will need to be larger.”

            “Ah … good. What about the spiral the Green Lady gave us? Will its virtue extend to stormwings if they are, um, in labour here?”

            “That I cannot tell.”

            “You have a gift of the Green Lady?” Barzha’s surprise was evident.

            “Yes. It has virtue of the Great Goddess in it as well.”

            “She and the Goddess may aid us in this, if in nothing else.”

            “Ah, right … Then I will need to see the one who is, ah, with egg.”

            Kel decided briskness was in order. “Your Majesty, we will pray to the Green Lady for blessing. Can you arrange for the mother to talk to Sir Neal? She will need to be frank about the birth process.”

            The Yamani female cackled, breasts shaking. “I am the mother, Protector, and I have no problem being frank.” As she was, like all stormwings, naked, Kel took the point and realised what she’d thought fatness was pregnancy, though not shaped as a mortal’s would be.

            “How about clean? There’s lots of nice meltwater around.”

            Neal shot her a look of gratitude and the Yamani cackled again. “As you are being so un-mortal I will be un-stormwing and … wash!”

            All the stormwings except Barzha laughed, even Hebakh, and Neal took a deep breath, choking slightly. “When are you due, um …?”

            “Cloestra is my name. In about a month. The egg will incubate for several more before hatching.”

            “A month? How long have you, um …?”

            “I conceived immediately after Rathhausak—the best meal you have given us, Protector. I had _lots_ of energy, as Mander found out.” She winked lewdly. “Our mating and gestation are similar to mortals’.”

            “Except you’ve no hands and it’s a steel egg.” Neal’s mutter was audible only to Kel. “Then come tomorrow afternoon, Cloestra, as clean as possible, please, I’ll see what I can do. The infirmary is the sixth building on that side.” He pointed. “I will pray to the Green Lady this evening about the spiral.”

            Barzha shifted again, scraping. “As you are honourable without oath, Protector, I offer a token also. There is a party of what appear to be Scanran refugees approaching from the north. They crossed the Vassa where you did last summer, and we observed them take care to avoid Fort Giantkiller.”

            Kel’s mind spun. “Thank you, Your Majesty. They _took care_ to avoid Giantkiller?”

            “They hid from two patrols that we saw.”

            “Mmm. Soldiers can be frightening. Still. May I ask how many?”

            “Twelve. Three younglings. Anything more you must ask yourself, Protector.”

            “Of course. Thank you.” Kel thought it wise not to be outdone. “Before you go, Your Majesty, let me tell you Lord Diamondflame was as intrigued as you by the skullroad, and told me more of the original. He may come to see it himself, and agrees with you about the timeway.”

            Irony again ran through Barzha’s voice. “Ah. We felt him come and go. And somehow, Protector, I am unsurprised he spoke to you of a matter neither dragons nor anyone else will usually mention at all. This is an interesting time. Farewell.”

            All the stormwings dropped off the merlons, Cloestra flipping her tail rudely, and Neal let out a long-suffering groan as Quenuresh and Var’istaan hissed laughter.

            “That was well handled, Protector. You continue to surprise. The timeway must judder with the pressure you apply.”

            “Never mind that.” Neal was plaintive. “How am I supposed to deliver an egg?”

            “The same way you deliver a baby, Neal, but with no arms or legs to get jammed.” Kel had other things on her mind. “The real question is these Scanrans. Brodhelm, send someone for Zerhalm. I don’t like the sound of them avoiding Giantkiller. If they know we’ll take Scanran refugees why not make contact as soon as they could? Especially if they’ve littles. Maximum caution—two extra squads at the Gatehouse, bows and polearms. And all mages. Griffin bands, but we’ll use the Honesty Gate with purpose. Get word to squad leaders in the fields—bring them up the roadway _very_ carefully, however pitiful they seem.”

            “At once, my Lady.”

            The Scanrans were escorted in at spear’s length by Ersen’s squad in mid-afternoon—an older man leading three men and five women, three carrying toddlers. As they started up the roadway Kel stepped out from under the lintel and back several times: there were no illusions she could detect and the group was indeed pitiable, faces pinched as she had seen at Rathhausak and obviously exhausted children being carried by—presumably—their mothers. But something in Kel remained uneasy; she didn’t know if it was a divine warning but she wasn’t going to ignore it, and by the time they reached the top of the roadway she and Zerhalm were at the other end of the barbican with spearmen and archers arrayed along its sides. Brodhelm stood behind her, Jump at her side. She had asked Zerhalm to speak first.

            “Come in under the gate lintel, please.” Kel gave no sign she understood Scanran. “It is an Honesty Gate, containing griffin magic. You must state your names and declare you mean no harm to any at New Hope, and come of your own free will, owing no allegiance to King Maggur and under no orders from him nor any lord, Scanran or Tortallan.”

            Kel was watching faces as Zerhalm spoke and saw compressed lips flicker dismay in the older man and one woman carrying a child, so she was unsurprised when the requirements beyond naming proved beyond those two. Mouths opened but the lie would not come, and she saw archers’ hands tauten.

            “Hold!”

            “Please, help us.” It was the woman who held the youngest child—no more than a year—speaking accented Common, taking a step and another. “They name you Protector of the Small. Will you protect our children?”

            “Hold fire.” Kel switched to Common. “You come intending harm, or under orders. There can be no refuge for you at New Hope.”

            The woman took another step, and Jump growled. “Yes, Maggur sent us to spy on you. He holds our families hostage.” There was no hesitation in her voice, so that was true, but she was getting closer. “But the babes are innocent. I beg you, shelter them.”

            “Stop where you are, lady. Come no closer.”

            She ignored Kel and took another few paces, holding out the baby. “Take him, please. Turn us away if you must, but take him. Save him.”

            Another step brought her within five paces of Kel and she held the child up, making him whimper. Jump’s growl deepened.

            “Take him, Protector, I beg you.”

            Four paces, three, and Kel’s instincts were screaming at her both to save the child and to back away when the woman thrust herself and the child forward, hands reaching. Kel’s arms lifted to receive him and green light flared at her wrist. Before she could remember what it meant her legs propelled her backwards, away from the hand that suddenly held a dagger, and Sergeant Olleric’s bow twanged. Whether anyone shouted Kel wasn’t sure, though she heard Jump bark: her gaze was locked on the woman as she stared dully at the shaft in her chest. The dagger dropped from a nerveless hand, clattering as blood spilled from her mouth and the child wailed; for a dreadful moment Kel thought he would fall, but the woman sank to her knees before the arm holding him relaxed and he tumbled to the ground, crying in earnest. The woman fell on her face, snapping the shaft of the arrow.

            “Gods, my Lady … she … I …”

            “It’s alright, Olleric. She offered harm and you did right. _Don’t_ touch that dagger, Jump.”

            Not to scoop up the crying child was perhaps the hardest thing Kel had ever done; instead she extended her arm cautiously towards him, waving it back and forth. Nothing. Ignoring the child with a convulsive swallow she waved her arm over the woman’s body. Nothing. Shifting a few paces on trembling legs she held her hand over the fallen dagger and green light flared again as the stone in Numair‘s bracelet lit. Stooping, Kel peered closely , seeing the way the metal dulled at the tip.

            “The blade is poisoned. Forist, gather it using cloth and wrap it. Be _very_ careful. That may be mage-made poison on the tip. Sir Neal or Quenuresh might tell us.” To her own ears Kel’s voice was weirdly calm and she busied herself picking up the child and trying to shush him on her hip. Then she looked at the Scanrans. The older man’s face was resigned, the others’ horrified, and she addressed him in Scanran.

            “There is no further purpose in lying. Maggur sent you to kill me?”

            He shrugged. “To spy, to do what harm we could, to kill you or any who fought at Rathhausak if we might. Freja was niece to Stenmun Kinslayer, whom you slew. She hated you with much passion.”

            Kel’s heart was frozen, her voice only cool. “Is the child hers?”

            “Yes.”

            “And the father?”

            “None knows. She was … close to her uncle, and no questions were asked when he forbade them.”

            Kel refused to think about the implications of that; no child was responsible for its parentage. “She said your families are held hostage.”

            “They are. My wife. These couples’ parents. Freja’s elder son.”

            “Will you take the child?”

            He stared at her. “Take him where?”

            “Back to Hamrkeng or wherever Maggur is.”

            “You will let us go?”

            “There is no place for you here. But we will keep the child—all the children, if you wish. They are innocents, whatever your dishonour.”

            “Dishonour?” His laugh was harsh. “There is no honour in Scanra.”

            “I know it. Zerhalm of Rathhausak knows it. That is why we will take the children. Her name was Freja Haraldsdottir, as she said?”

            “Yes.”

            “We will bury her in Haven, despoiled by the Kinslayer, and mark her stone.”

            One of the women fell to her knees. “Protector of the Small, if you will take my nephew, do so. His parents are dead. He will have a better chance here than in Maggur’s land.”

            “Give him to the nearest soldier, _very_ carefully.” She looked at the other woman with a child. “And you?”

            “My son does not leave me.”

            “As you will. We will give you food and escort you back to the Vassa crossing. Brodhelm, detail four squads to ride out as soon as maybe,  please, and make up trail rations for ten for five days.”

            “My lady, you—”

            “Do it. Go.”

            He went.

            “You can bear a message to King Maggur. There is no entry here for his spies and assassins, no matter how many hostages he holds. All gods despise him for necromancy and the Black God gives special comfort to the children Blayce murdered. His judges await Maggur eagerly and if he is wise he will abandon his evil and do penance on his knees.”

            The Scanran’s laugh was harsh. “You think Maggur Reidarsson will listen to your fantasies of the gods?”

            The hand not holding the still whimpering child rose to Kel’s chest, tracing the gods’ circle. “I, Keladry of Mindelan, do swear I speak truth of the Black God, heard from his own lips and those of the Goddess.” Hounds belled and wind soughed, echoing in the barbican, and the Scanrans flinched. Kel saw with interest that her soldiers did not. “He will listen if he is wise or his death will be beyond imagining. Now go, grateful there is honour yet in Tortall. Sergeant Connac’s men will take you to the foot of the roadway to await escort.”

            It took a while for the escort to assemble and Kel managed to quiet the child on her hip before hardening her heart, and looking at Zerhalm.

            “Will you take them, Zerhalm, or should I ask Fanche to place them with Tortallan mothers?”

            Zerhalm’s face was wondering. “We will take them, Lady Kel, and grant them comfort of their own tongue. You are generous.”

            “They are children.”

            “I meant to the adults.”

            “More of Maggur’s victims. And their return alive, discovered before they could enter, is a better message than their deaths.”

            He bowed to her and took the little boy. Settling him on his hip, he gestured with his free arm to the soldier who held the other child. “Come, Lendor. They need food and warmth.” They left together, trying to still the children’s whimpering as their worlds spun, and Kel forced her brain to work.

            “One of you, go for Sir Neal, please. The body must be searched and wrapped for burial. Get her into the guardroom, please, Brodhelm. And beware more poisoned weapons.”

            It was an ugly task, and they found nothing save weapons—another dagger in a boot, a thin, nasty-looking knife strapped to her inner thigh, a hair-clasp and brooch with pins razor-sharp and long enough to kill, and a stoppered vial. Quenuresh, sniffing carefully, said it had no magical ingredient but was deadly.

            “I guess it is a concentrate of wolfsbane and dwale. Even a touch on the skin might kill a mortal. It should burn in the hottest smithy fire.”

            The woman’s funeral was depressing, despite sunshine. There was muttering about burying an enemy at Haven but Kel was unmoving, and the woman laid to rest beside the tauros victims. Only she spoke, naming the woman, regretting the forces of war that brought her to die at New Hope, and promising care of her son in a better future. She ended by praying the woman find the Black God’s peace all must crave beyond their deaths, and chimes sounded; soldiers who’d complained had the grace to look ashamed. A headstone Kel commissioned was put up a week later: Freja Haraldsdottir—Died March 462—A Victim of Maggur.

            There was better news regarding Cloestra. Even Neal admitted the stormwing had been remarkably clean if not scent-free when she’d come and professional interest overcame distaste. The Green Lady had responded to prayers with a vivid dream of how to check a stormwing’s egg was the right way round, and rotate it if it weren’t, and that had proven what was needed.

            “It’s like a breech birth but an egg seems more prone to rotate and they’ve no way of manipulating it except magic, which she said doesn’t work well. But any being with hands can. I almost feel sorry—half their problems could be fixed if anyone helped. You’d think _someone_ would.”

            Kel was reminded of something Daine had hesitantly said about tauroses having constant urges, few brains, and no mates. What did one expect? And couldn’t gods arrange it better? Even Kel hadn’t been able to disagree, and listening to Neal felt her dislike of stormwings fade.

 

* * * * *

 

Vanget was less than happy with Kel’s report, scowling ferociously into the spellmirror as he listened.

            “A poisoned dagger? Assassins’ weapons? Gods. And you let ’em go?”

            “I had them escorted back to the Vassa and seen over it. I thought it might do us more good than executing people who were coerced.”

            “Maybe.” Kel had balked at the thought of executing young couples and suspected Vanget knew it. “Sir Myles might have something to say—he always wants answers. And more information would have been useful if we’re going to have to watch for fake refugees.”

            “I suppose so—but I wasn’t about to authorise torture, Vanget. Fake refugees will aim for New Hope anyway, and that the woman was Stenmun’s niece suggests personal attack, not strategy.”

            “Huh. Do you think the boy’s really his son?”

            “He’s as blond as Stenmun but so are most Scanrans. In any case, he’s an innocent.”

            “You don’t believe in apples falling close to apple trees, then?”

            “Not really. I think it’s more like the servant revealing the master. I see children here changing all the time because they’re being treated differently—they’ve more responsibilities but they’re getting a better education than most would in their villages or at Tirrsmont, and they don’t go hungry or get beaten. It’s like Kitten—Daine’s dragonet. Her grandsire says she’s more advanced than other dragonets, because living in the mortal realms she’s had to do much more much younger, and she’s met more beings. It rubs off.”

            Vanget shook his head. “Dragons. Oh well. I’ll pass word to beware trickery. We could do with an Honesty Gate like yours.”

            “I’ll ask Quenuresh to ask the griffins if they can come and do one.”

            His eyebrows rose. “Just like that?”

            “How else? They can only say no.”

            “Huh. What would they want in return?”

            “I’ve no idea, Vanget. Fish, maybe. I’ll ask. Just make sure no-one shoots at them if they do turn up—they’re a bit haughty and abrupt at the best of times.”

            He laughed. “Right you are. Now, what’s this about helmets?”

            Wyldon was equally unamused. He detoured to New Hope on his way back to Mastiff, bringing Prosper, assigned to Kel’s command, and Seaver, as well as the soldiers who’d been on leave and had fallen in with him. Owen and two new knights were assigned to Northwatch—“The lad needs experience of other commands”—but the other two, Erik of Brightleigh and Willem of Trucha, assigned to Mastiff and Steadfast, were also with the former training master. Kel gave yet another tour, in brisk mode, and didn’t recognise the heroine-worship behind their surprised looks until she left the knights with Brodhelm and Uinse to discuss how patrols were managed, and Wyldon dryly pointed it out.

            “You’re joking!”

            “Not at all, Keladry. They already envied Sir Prosper his assignment and you’ve doubled that. Quite a change from a year ago—the refugee camp being the plum.”

            She had to appreciate the irony, but the dryness left his voice when she told him about Freja Haraldsdottir.

            “Mithros! So you’ve survived two assassination attempts in as many months—one from a Tortallan and one from a Scanran. It’s a bad habit.”

            “Surviving them?”

            He gave her a severe look. “I’m glad you can be so resilient about it. I doubt you feel like that.”

            “No, it’s … wearing. And it eats at Tobe. At least the child is too young to understand, and can be comforted by simple kindness.”

            “Mmm. Still. There’s been no news of Sir Guisant or that steward, by the way—they seem to have vanished altogether.”

            “Or they’re holed up somewhere like Runnerspring or Genlith.”

            “So we think, but with Torhelm in administration a search of Runnerspring or any noble land would be, ah, ill-advised.”

            “And probably fruitless. I know. What about Tirrsmont?”

            “The enquiry began last week, and Turomot has taken your depositions into evidence with Tirrsmont’s perjury. It’s clear he falsified records to save tax on his silver, so there’s not much doubt the enquiry will find him guilty of fraud and gross maladministration, _and_ rule refusal to shelter so many liegers in wartime constitutes breach of his liege-oath. Turomot’s minded that way on the evidence so far.”

            “Will Voelden inherit?”

            “That’s trickier, but I suspect not. He’d given a sworn statement supporting his father’s perjury, and as that’s what triggered the enquiry it doesn’t make sense to force his succession. But there’s no other lineal heir and the next is very distant so the fief will probably be dissolved. No-one’s happy about that, but there’s precedent and not much choice.”

            “So what happens to the people?”

            “I don’t know, Keladry. It’s probable the rest of the commoners will end up here—Tirrsmont’s troops are hired, not sworn, and if he can’t pay them they’ll not linger. And even without politics we won’t want to man it as well as Giantkiller. I’ve earmarked extra food for you in case.”

            “Alright, I’ll prepare for what, two hundred more people?”

            “About that, yes.”

            “We might not need much extra food, though. The winter crop’s been excellent—you’ll be surprised by my inventory next calend. The Goddess’s blessing, I believe, but whatever the reason I had thought we’d need less food from elsewhere than we have done.”

            “Well, that’s good news. Food’s the biggest cost after pay.”

            “I know. There are other good things, too.”

            She showed him helmets and told him about plans for a Guild and its egalitarian terms. He shook his head, smiling.

            “More innovations. The helmet’s fascinating, and you’re right the army will want them, and the Own, but you’ll have the guildmasters up in arms, you know. And that’s a far lower tithe than most overlords take.”

            “I’ll have them queuing for immortal business, if I get it right. And I’m no overlord but I will make New Hope less of a burden on the realm.”

            “You’ve repaid every investment in this place a dozen times over.”

            Kel noted with relief such statements didn’t make her blush any more. “Have I? Good—but that’s no reason for us not to do all we can. And there’s two things I didn’t include in the tour but you should see.”

            She took him up to the lookout post, not quite complete but with room to stand once Kuriaju and Petrin withdrew. In the sunlight the view was spectacular, rockfall traps standing out above the sparkling foam of the river’s spate, and with her spyglass a stretch of trail a good seven or eight miles down the valley was clearly visible.

            “It won’t save us from every raid, but if any large group heads our way we should have enough time to get everyone safely in. We’re still blind the other way, though. I’d like to cut steps right up the fin and get a post up there—that would really be a view!—but it’ll have to wait.”

            “I imagine.” The dryness was back in Wyldon’s voice. “This is remarkable enough. You’ve cut the tunnel up to here in one winter?”

            “Kuriaju and Petrin have.”

            “My sincere congratulations—that’s very fast work.”

            Petrin nodded awkwardly, self-conscious in the presence of a senior noble as he wasn’t with familiar Lady Kel, but Kuriaju smiled.

            “We had basilisk help, Lord Wyldon. In this limestone Var’istaan can turn a rockface the size of the tunnel into cut blocks in minutes. We have only to haul them away. The fin is harder—he can do it but more slowly and it takes much more magical power so he tires more quickly.”

            “Even so, Master Kuriaju. In Corus they’d have a dozen times the workforce and take three times as long.”

            “Perhaps they lack our incentive.”

            She took Wyldon down to where Var’istaan and others were working on the passage through the fin. Quenuresh and her kin had headed back to their wood days before and the first feet of the new tunnel had been cut. She explained what they’d found about the crack and how she planned to use the central chamber with the other possible defences.

            “Ah, good. You had me worried but that does make a difference.”

            “I thought so, though Brodhelm wasn’t happy, and that’s partly why I’m being careful about telling people—there’s no point shouting we’ve a back door. But with the bridged chamber as a lock to close the way if necessary I couldn’t pass up a chance to create a sally port—having no offensive capacity was a real limitation. We’ll need to improve the corral though, so I was wondering if Geraint and the building team might be available. We’ve plans and labour, but not expertise.”

            “I don’t see why not. Giantkiller’s finished and there’s no major project this year, though they’re doing a dozen picket stations and waypoints along the Vassa Road. We’re hoping for better intelligence on where Scanrans are crossing. But once that’s done I’ll send them along.”

            “Thank you.”

            He stayed to eat amid the glowing pillars, and she introduced Prosper to everyone as well as welcoming Seaver back and naming the new knights. Afterwards, to her surprise, Erik rather stiffly asked her permission to pray at the shrines.

            “Of course, Sir Erik.” She remembered how conscious she’d been of her title in the months after her Ordeal and saw amusement in Wyldon’s eyes at her careful use of Erik’s. “You don’t need to ask permission for that—just be careful what you pray for! The gods seem to listen rather closely here.”

            He was taken aback. “So I believe, Lady Knight. I confess that’s my hope—my father is ill. Is there a reason I shouldn’t pray for his health?”

            “Of course not. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have been flippant. It’s something both Wildmage and Lioness have said to me, though, and I’ve learned its truth the hard way this last year. When the gods grant what you ask it’s not an easy experience. ”

            “Nor should it be, Lady Knight. I considered Mithran priesthood before training as a knight, and sound doctrine stresses the seriousness he demands and the power of his presence, at which none can laugh.”

            She could see piety in his eyes and decided not to tell him about Kitten’s scolding of the foremost Great God, but his manner grated. “I expect it does, and though I’ve never met him the power’s sure enough. I don’t know I’d say seriousness, exactly, though. The Black God and Goddess value sincerity over earnestness. And Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady laugh a lot, while the Hag has a _vile_ sense of humour. But any person’s prayer is their own. You know your way?”

            He did, and left glancing back over his shoulder with the look of a man whose head was spinning. Neal grinned and Yuki raised an eyebrow.

            “That was wicked of you, Kel.”

            “Was it? I’m sorry about his father but he is rather earnest, and I’ve honestly seen little sign the gods value _that_ much. They prefer wit to intensity, I think. And what _would_ Lord Sakuyo say?”

            Wyldon’s eyes were amused but there was something else there as well that puzzled Kel. “He just needs seasoning, Lady Yukimi, as all new knights do. And I confess I was struck myself by the laughter of Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. I’d never really thought about gods other than the tricksters having much sense of humour, but I suspect Lady Keladry is correct it is sincerity rather than earnestness that matters—Lord Mithros is a soldier, after all, and must well understand that levity need not mean disrespect.”

            As they were leaving the messhall Kel laid a hand on Wyldon’s arm. “Look—above the animal pens.”

            The magelights around the inner wall showed Peachblossom on his rounds, accompanied by Jump and looking up as a sentry called down to him that he was awake and alert and all was well.

            “He has them _reporting_ to him? Oh, that’s good.” A chuckle escaped, drawing a startled look from Sir Willem. “Goldenlake will be amused—I had the pleasure of startling him with the tale of your newest sergeant.”

            Kel hadn’t seen Raoul since June and found herself missing him and his good humour. She said as much and Wyldon nodded.

            “I understand that. We often don’t see eye to eye but he’s a fine knight. It’ll depend how things are, but we mooted a commanders’ conference in July, at Mastiff probably, so you’ll see him then.”

            That was something to look forward to, though Kel made a note to ask Numair, if he came, about spellmirrors. She knew there was a limit to their distance, and hers linked only to Northwatch and Mastiff, but Northwatch was linked to Mastiff, as great a distance as New Hope to Steadfast. She had no time to brood on it, for no sooner had she and Brodhelm got Prosper settled in and evening training running than there were Ostara celebrations, with another fine day and mild air to put all in a mood to enjoy themselves.

            Kel made an offering of the last old crop, thanking the Green Lady for her blessing and all gods for their care. After the chimes she also took stock, praising everyone for how much had been achieved but reminding them fighting season began with spring, Maggur’s attention was on them as much as the gods’, and there might be a further influx from Tirrsmont. To the former Tirrsmonters this was welcome, but the adults knew as well as she that with every barracks full and two hundred more mouths to feed growth would be hard and there would be frictions. For the evening feast the cooks made an effort, drawing on fresh supplies and Yuki’s skill with condiments, Quenuresh came with her kin, and the crowded messhall rang with chatter and children’s laughter.

            Seated opposite her Prosper was as wide-eyed as he’d been when he arrived. Kel thought he’d coped admirably with Quenuresh but as he tried to express his astonishment at almost everything about New Hope she wondered if it was just that he had no more capacity to react.

            “I can’t get over it, Lady Kel.” Even as a page he’d been as respectful to her as to any senior, and though she’d invited him to use her bare name maintained the New Hope honorific. “I saw this valley as a boy, when we went to the City of the Gods, and there was nothing here. And though I’d heard talk of this fortress I was thinking of it as a refugee camp—but it’s like a fief, a strong one. And the immortals, and the chimes—I’ve never heard them so loud.”

            Kel smiled at him reassuringly. “I know, Prosper—it’s disconcerting, isn’t it? But you’ll get used to hearing them round here.”

            “So I gather. It’s—forgive me, it’s just so odd. You’re the last person I’d have expected to become so … well, intimate with the gods. It’s as if they’re friends, but you were always the very opposite of god-touched. That was the Lioness with her mercurial temper—you were completely practical and always calm, down-to-earth, and everyone knew she was forbidden to see you to make sure it stayed that way.”

            “Everyone except me, Prosper. No-one bothered to tell me that until Neal spilled it in my second year.” Even after all this time it still rankled—Alanna could have taught her a great deal she needed, and none of it would have had anything to do with gods or magic.

            “Oh. I didn’t know that, but I suppose one’s always the last to know about something concerning oneself. It seems that way.”

            “Yes, it does. But don’t envy me the gods’ attention, Prosper. I’m beginning to realise they see us much as most people see animals, and being noticed by them is a bit like being a mule selected for a bad winter journey over high passes. We speak of them loving us as parents but it’s more the way a drover loves his stock, and both involve beatings.”

            He gave her a strange look. “What do I know, Lady Kel? But I almost wonder if they’ve chosen you _because_ you’re so practical. A good drover respects his mules, too—else he gets kicked.”

            Kel laughed. “Well that’s comforting. It’s good to have you here, Prosper, and not just as a good fighter with the Gift, useful as that is.”

            “Thank you. It’s good to be here—I’ve hoped to serve with you ever since you showed me what command is that day with the hillmen. If Faleron and Owen were here we’d all be together again.”

            The simple statement stayed in Kel’s mind. At the time she’d been so absorbed in her reaction to having killed men and the need not to disparage Neal or Faleron as older pages who’d frozen that she’d never noticed the effects on Owen and Prosper. She’d come to terms with command what seemed long ago—no choice—but commanding friends was odd, and if she could handle those under her command becoming friends the other way round was more difficult. When Tobe asked her one night as he was brushing Jump what she was brooding about she tried to explain what she felt, and how peculiar it was, but he shrugged.

            “The first time I ever saw you, Ma, you came down on old Alvik like a smith’s hammer. He’s older and bigger and no friend to anyone but that made no odds. People obey you, whoever they are. Even that Council and the King, sort of. Why should friends be different?”

            She protested, to no avail—to him as much as Prosper her command was how things were, infinitely preferable to how they had been. But she spent time next day at the shrines, wondering what she meant to ask for and in the end simply praying that she be able to keep doing whatever it was she was doing right. There was no response but a sense of amusement from Lord Sakuyo and she left more cross than comforted.

            She couldn’t keep it up for long, though, with the trickster’s day at the beginning of April. Left to her own devices Kel might not have introduced that particular festival to New Hope, but Yuki had told the children about famous pranks, and they were enthusiastic. So too were many adults who had heard Sakuyo and thought it wise to propitiate any god with such a laugh, so Kel had to go along, starting the day with the proper phrases and poems in his praise. Thereafter there was a deal of silliness, mostly among children but with several good jokes among adults. Uinse and Jacut between them managed to convince Merric one of his eyes had changed colour, sending him worriedly to Neal, and Mikal revealed a deadpan streak by ordering his duty squads to wear a bright yellow ribbon all day in the god’s honour before exploding with laughter at the looks on their faces. The prize, though, went by popular acclaim to Amiir’aan, who during the afternoon managed to craft in the surface of the main level a set of dragon tracks—large dragon tracks—that showed the beast landing and entering the messhall before going to the privies and taking off again. Only when the adults crowding excitedly round them realised he was as convulsed with laughter as anyone had ever seen a basilisk did they realise they’d been had, and Kel was asked by so many people to let the tracks stay that she agreed despite the puddles they’d create when it rained.

            And it seemed Lord Sakuyo must approve, for two days later visitors arrived. Master Orman’s man, a Port Caynn trader called Barin, was not a surprise, though his promptness was pleasing, but the company he was keeping was another matter. Kel had been astonished to see a squad of samurai warriors and another of the Own escorting a Yamani noble and horse-drawn cart towards the moatbridge, but Yuki took one look and left at a run, shouting over her shoulder it was the second _kamunushi_ of Lord Sakuyo. Kel didn’t have time to change herself but managed to get an honour guard in place to greet Lord Kiyomori. His first request was to give thanks for preservation on his journey, and while he didn’t add ‘among barbarians’ Kel heard it plainly.

            As they passed the infirmary, the samurai in tow and an increasing number of surprised people watching, Yuki emerged in fullest fig to offer a deep bow and bring proper Yamani protocol to proceedings. Kiyomori was no more than ordinarily polite, but after he’d seen the shrines, praying and cautiously making the same spell as Takemahou- _sensei_ , with similar results, he became quite deferential, to Kel’s mild annoyance and Yuki’s considerable amusement. His mission was to deliver hundreds of small brooches, deep green jade set in gold, that marked Sakuyo’s Blessed, and he solemnly presented them amid much bowing at a lengthy ceremony before supper that left everyone eager for food. Kel, by this stage in kimonos, kept her remarks short but impressed on people the honour they were being done and how seriously the Yamanis took it; more discreetly she had Brodhelm, Uinse, Fanche, and Zerhalm make it clear to their respective commands that pawning the brooches or otherwise parting with them would Be Unwise, adding a promise that if anyone reached such a point of need she’d make them a loan herself.

            It was the contents of the cart and the accompanying message that really astonished, though—one hundred glaives, not as fine as her own but of serious quality, with a message from the Emperor in his own exquisite calligraphy begging their acceptance as a token of his deep respect for the citadel of Sakuyo’s Blessed and his prayers for their safety in war. Keiichi had suggested this might happen but Kel hadn’t believed him, and faced with the evidence still had trouble crediting it: the glaives were worth a fortune but it was the personal message that floored her, for in Yaman only the highest of high nobles would ever receive such a scroll and it would be a treasure of their house. Yuki was less surprised, reminding Kel Shinko had been present when Sakuyo laughed and would have informed her uncle in detail of what had happened; a samurai Kel managed to get to open up a little confided that news of the god’s laughter had not only caused much amazement but been understood by all—even the fiercest doubters—as unequivocally blessing the controversial Tortallan alliance. That at least was a politics Kel could understand, but she was hard-pressed to know how to reply, and after several efforts became exasperated with herself, composing simple thanks for imperial notice and benevolence and feeling inspired to add a haiku:

>   
>  _The emperor’s glaives_   
>  _in the morning at New Hope—_   
>  _petals of our Blessing._   
> 

Yuki gave delighted approval, twitting Kel and Neal over her emergence as a poet, and as Kel’s calligraphy was at best indifferent wrote the scroll for her on the best parchment she could find.

            Master Barin was a different kettle of fish. However impressed by New Hope and Kel herself he was politely noncommittal about trade and seemed dubious of their ability to produce anything of quality. His attitude changed as he saw how they’d used spidren webbing, and when Kel took him to meet Quenuresh; the helmets also intrigued him but the real shift came when he saw basilisks at work. The dinner services Kel had commissioned had been made—just—but not petrified, and Barin was able to watch St’aara do so, not with the great rumbling shriek of the rock spell but a sound like handfuls of pebbles rattling down an infinite slope that finessed thin, polished wood into translucent stone while preserving grains and whorls. When Kel explained who the services were for and why Lord Imrah was receiving one, blandly adding a request that he arrange transport and present them on New Hope’s behalf, his delight in their beauty was joined by respect, compounded when she sat him down with Idrius and Kuriaju to discuss terms and the fact that the deal would—assuming a royal charter—be with the Craftsbeings’ Guild.

            With her promise of escort to Mindelan and a letter to get him priority service there he stayed several days longer than Lord Kiyomori, impressing Kel by his willingness to speak to Quenuresh again. He also spent time with Idrius, emerging with a rueful look after making concessions he hadn’t intended, and by the time he left with Connac’s squad, a train of packhorses, and the services packed carefully in crates alongside bundled webbing and a helmet he had become quite proprietary about the success of the whole thing. He also took her smoke-ruined finery, promising to see it safely delivered.

            When Connac returned two weeks later he bore letters from Anders, Vorinna, Inness, and Tilaine that didn’t know what to say about news they’d had of Kel but expressed affection, and escorted her new private clerk. Heliana was all her father had promised, and as army mails, resuming with spring, had brought a vast bundle of letters forwarded from the Palace and her parents’ townhouse she welcomed the young woman with open arms. It meant an embarrassing discussion about requests and yet another proposal, but after a few days refining Heliana’s grasp of what Kel was interested to see, and what she wanted answering with no more trouble than a signature, they got on well.

            As spring warmed and ploughing gathered momentum Kel felt considerable satisfaction. The lookout post was finished, the tunnel making progress, glaive training under way, and her paperwork under better control than ever, the personal burden infinitely reduced and even official material crossing her desk better organised and more swiftly filed or despatched. Troubles enough would come, but New Hope was ever readier to deal with them.


	14. Impairment

**Chapter Fourteen — Impairment**

_April–May_

 

In mid-April Kel was notified by Duke Turomot that Sir Arnolf, Lord of Tirrsmont, had been found to have committed perjury, oathbreach, and theft from the Crown, amounting to capital treason; that Sir Voelden was denied right of succession on grounds of perjury and complicity in treasonable theft; and that, absent any clear claim, Fief Tirrsmont was dissolved. A letter from her parents described evidence that had piled up, an avalanche of complaints from people who’d left Tirrsmont before the war and merchants with unpaid bills and records of purchases in silver bars revealing the scale of fraud perpetrated on the Crown. She shouldn’t worry, they concluded, about her part in events, even the stickiest conservatives and those most unhappy about striking a fief from the Book of Silver being unwilling to defend Sir Arnolf. Torhelm, however, refused written communication, his son and steward were at large, and his fief continued in royal administration with neighbouring lords casting covetous eyes.

            Kel read the notice at dinner and did nothing to check celebrations by those who’d suffered most from their sometime lord’s selfish incompetence; but if she had no sympathy for Arnolf or Voelden she was deeply uneasy all the same. Her parents hadn’t mentioned Lords Burchard or Carolan, and while she had to accept their judgement that there’d be no widespread trouble she knew Genlith and friends would blame her for ‘starting’ the problem, and in Runnerspring’s case at least seek to do her whatever harm he could compass. Nor was her worry helped by a third document, a grand scroll from the King, appointing Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, Commander of New Hope, to his Council. This she also had to read out, and whether the cheers or the astonishment on the faces of her friends was the more disconcerting she couldn’t have said.

            She tried to slip away after the meal but Neal and Yuki trailed her to her rooms and she had little choice but to let them in and serve Yamani tea. As she settled, having made sure Yuki was comfortable, Neal considered her with bafflement.

            “Kel, why aren’t you happier? I know you wouldn’t triumph in anyone’s fall except Maggur’s but you _must_ be pleased to be rid of that appalling man and his son. And a second Mindelan seat on the Council—gods! The haMinches only have two because Lord Padraig’s Training Master. You must be the youngest member by decades.”

            “Lady Maura of Dunlath’s only two years older than me.”           

            “Does she have a seat?”

            “She was given it when she came of age because of the treaty at Dunlath. That’s what mine’s about too—Quenuresh more than anything.”

            “And killing Stenmun and Blayce and rescuing everyone and creating New Hope and what you did with the Chamber and returning from the dead and smiting Torhelm and from what my father says though you somehow omitted to mention it taking a glaive to the political logjam that’s held everything up for two decades pretty much the same way you took one to Blayce and Stenmun.”

            “Did he breathe during that, Yuki?”

            “I don’t think so. He often forgets. But I am puzzled also, Kel. You have done marvellously well. It is right to be proud, and no-one would think ill of you for it.”

            Kel let blandness slip. “Oh wouldn’t they? The children and I spent our whole time in Corus when we weren’t in a spelled room wearing jerkins and bracelets to detect poison, both of which have proven necessary or I’d be properly dead. I can’t think of anything that would enrage people like Runnerspring more than this, and I wish the King had waited.” She waved a hand impatiently. “But it’s not even that, really, though I resent the threat to the children more than I can say.”

            “But who has threatened them, Kel?” Yuki was honestly puzzled.

            “Remember what happened to Lalasa, Yuki. Joren thought it beautifully logical to hurt someone else in order to hurt me, and I’ve no doubt Freja would have killed Tobe or Irnai if she’d had the chance.”

            “She has a point, Yuki. Joren was no better than Maggur. But if it’s not that, Kel, what is it?”

            “Nothing. Everything.”

            “Which?”

            “Both. I don’t mind killing a nightmare and his dog, though I’m sick of killing anyone, but I have very mixed feelings about killing a fief, which is what a lot of people will say and more will think, as they say I killed Joren and struck down Torhelm—even you, just now. And however necessary executing Tirrsmont might be, dissolving a fief is dangerous. There’ll be a deal of disquiet.” She took a breath. “And it’s not really that either. At bottom, Neal, it’s because it makes me all too aware I’m fighting on two fronts. Do you remember, as a page, being on the same team as Quinden in a fight? Having to double-think everything because he couldn’t be trusted? Well, scale it up. Way, way up, and climbing all the time. And _then_ there’s this wretched timeway nonsense no mortal can understand—I have no idea how something like this affects it, and nor does the King, so unless a god or a dragon chooses to say something I have to ignore it and do whatever _seems_ right, or nothing, though it might prove ruinous. It makes my head hurt. And my heart.”

            There was a long silence, broken by Yuki.

            “Keladry- _chan_ , I could not begin to do what you do, and I can see it is hard, but I have been here six months now and I do know why people trust and follow you. Yes, you are a natural leader—you draw the best from people for their own safety, and they know it—and you work astonishingly hard, but it is more. They think you do the right thing even when there is none, and you are surprised. Most of all with the rescue—a madness, going alone into Scanra, that drew others after and changed everything—but also in creating New Hope, agreeing with Quenuresh and all the immortals, and in what happened in Corus. Some think it is the gods acting through you, some that they only bless what you do, but all trust your instincts, not just your decisions. And clearly the King and the Emperor do also. You do so yourself—you just don’t like it.”

            Neal looked at his wife admiringly and back at Kel. “Seconded. When those hillmen jumped us, Kel, you had no more warning than any of us but you _knew_ what we had to do. You still do.”

            “That was just tactics, Neal—there wasn’t any cover except the cliff. This is strategy in fog.”

            “Even so, Keladry- _chan_. In fog we still must go one way or another, and we trust your choice.”

            Kel looked at her friend, bafflement warring with pride and pain. “I know, Yuki- _chan_ , but it scares me and things like this make me feel I’m just blundering along. Tirrsmont came huffing and puffing and my instincts said not to let him get away with anything, so I refused him entry—and Tortall is shaken in ways I never even imagined.”

            “But that is the point, Keladry- _chan_. You did as you thought right when most would bow to a blustering noble, and it _was_ right—unforeseen events spiralled from it that are good. A justice none expected. Crimes that were not known exposed and punished. For one who is unhappy, a hundred are pleased. As is the King, who rewards you and makes clear his trust. You need only go on doing what seems right. None can do more and you must not do less.”

            “Seconded again, Kel. Double-guessing yourself never helps. Gods know I don’t envy you command—being in charge of patients is bad enough—but I’m glad it’s you.” Neal was uncharacteristically grave. “I still think of the ten-year-old page who taught us all what’s still the best lesson on the heart of chivalry I’ve ever learned, and for everything that’s happened since I don’t think that’s changed at all.”

            She threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll lead us all off a cliff together. Thank you both—I’m not ungrateful, I just feel like I’m up Balor’s Needle again. Let’s hope it’s the tree from my Ordeal instead.”

            “What tree? Are you allowed to talk about your Ordeal?”

            “We all are, Neal. It’s not a rule, just custom based on shame at our own fears. The elemental said it didn’t care what anyone said about what it did, and the tree it made me climb was one I had to let go of.” She explained the opposition in her mind between grimly hanging on to Lalasa and Jump as she brought them down the Needle and grimly letting go of the violently swaying tree high above the elemental’s plain.

            “My Ordeal wasn’t like that—just enduring what it threw at me.”

            “Oh it did that as well, as it did every time I touched the door. I expect it wanted to try something new.”

            “It is interesting, though. Neal gets more frustrated than you—sometimes he needs to hang on. And it seems right you should sometimes have to let go. Let this go now, Keladry- _chan_.”

            “Easier said than done, Yuki, but I’ll try.”

            She wasn’t sleeping badly, though her dreams were often anxious and visited by men she’d killed, but nagging worry wouldn’t leave her. She wasn’t sure if it was Tortallan treachery or Scanran assault she feared most, or the politics that clutched her ever tighter, but either way the answer was work. There wasn’t a great deal more she could do, especially with her paperwork already in order, but when demands of the fields left tunnellers short-handed she helped haul stone, marvelling at the way Var’istaan cut it. Steadily the tunnel deepened, and Brodhelm’s surveying suggested they had perhaps six hundred feet to go, so they might hope to finish sometime next winter. She also threw herself into glaive classes, insisting on proper pattern dances and seeing the women’s frustrations ebb as they began to realise the benefits. At month’s end she did her inventory, with satisfaction at the figures for food, and that afternoon found herself summoned to the lookout. One glance through her spyglass at the sorry column plodding up valley was enough.

            “It’s the Tirrsmonters. We’d best get moving.”

            The barracks had been prepared but cooks groaned as they started peeling and chopping again and the reality was worse than anyone expected. The shambling, limping people escorted by tight-faced Ownsmen were thin and afraid, the vulnerable among them too often ill. There was resentment in faces, directed at everything but especially Kel, that intensified when they had to pass the Honesty Gate and make their statements, and some hysteria from both children and adults when they saw Amiir’aan and some ogres. From the wails of frightened children Kel began to grasp what they believed might happen—what they must have been _told_ happened at New Hope—and had to lock her Yamani mask on while she reassured them.

            Five squads of the Own’s First Company were commanded by Ettenor of Aili, a nephew of Harailt who’d succeeded Glaisdan, and to Kel’s surprise he assumed her seniority, reporting with a crisp salute.

            “The King sent us to Tirrsmont to proclaim the fief dissolved, my Lady. Sir Voelden accompanied us with that so-called captain, but when we arrived most of the hired troops had vanished, days back according to the steward. It took them a while to realise we really weren’t going to stay and if they wanted defending they’d have to come here, and the steward and his cronies were adamant they’d have nothing to do with you until we actually pulled out yesterday morning. He’s that balding fellow—Lasner’s his name. Sir Voelden stayed—holed up in his apartments—and a couple of men with him. Otherwise Tirrsmont is now deserted.”

            “Did you strip it? You seem to have a lot of carts and horses.”

            “We’ve seized any valuables we could find, including the former lord’s horses—His Grace of Wellam’s judgement included a huge fine for fraud—and any weapons we saw. Those are yours if you want them, my Lady, though it’s a sorry trove—rusty mail and blunt swords.”

            “We can always melt them down. What about livestock?”

            He frowned. “We left it, my Lady. No orders to do otherwise and it would have meant at least one more night on the road.”

            “And horses you didn’t take?”

            “Turned ’em loose in the pastures, my Lady.”

            “The animals must be retrieved.” She gave crisp orders and sent word to Adner to detail herdsman for an immediate trip to Tirrsmont. When she turned back Ettenor was frowning.

            “I see I erred, my Lady. Is livestock that short, then?”

            “It’s in demand, Captain, but there are other considerations. It would feed or mount Scanrans as well, and you can be sure they’ll investigate Tirrsmont soon enough. There’s also the Wildmage to think of—she’s as hard-hearted about farm animals as anyone but doesn’t like needless suffering, and we rather depend on her up here. For some of these people stock represented a large part of their wealth, and we’re going to need them in as good heart as possible.” She hesitated. “Your command and orders are your own, Captain, but I will say that if you were worried about being on the road at night you could have contacted me—I’d have sent squads and herders to assist, and as a large party you’d be unlucky to be attacked this early in the year.”

            He was chastened. “It’s the first time I’ve come north since I was given the First, my Lady, and I hadn’t realised how substantial a command this is. Asking you for assistance never occurred to me.”

            “There’s Giantkiller, too. But no matter—we’ll retrieve the animals and check for anything we can use. Meantime, Sir Merric will see your men sorted for the night, and give them a run-down of standing orders. I expect you’ll be able to persuade him to give you a tour.”

            She could feel temper bubbling, as much with the King for giving inadequate orders as anything, and wanted to let the arrivals know their livestock would follow. Some responded to the announcement but she could still sense bitterness, and fear that puzzled her; she put it down to being displaced and not understanding the strength of New Hope until her straightforward statement of standing orders about rosters and training was greeted with jeers from a group of young men standing near Lasner. A ringleader stepped forward.

            “An’ what if we don’t wanna do all that, eh? You gonna kill us?”

            “Kill you? Of course not. Why ever would you think such a thing? Capital punishment is reserved for capital charges, here as everywhere in Tortall, and if you’ve been told otherwise you were misled. But neither my standing orders nor work rosters and training sessions are choices, I’m afraid, for you or anyone. Even children train here—and the rules are for _your_ safety, as you’d realise if you bothered to think. Refusing’s not an option you have any more.”

            “Or what?”

            She frowned. “Or scouring armour, latrine duty, a day in the stocks, confinement on bread and water, and in the end, if you really demand to freeload on everyone else, you’ll find yourself outside the gates.”

            “Kick us out and keep the monsters? You can’t do that.”

            “Yes I can, and there are no monsters here. This is a military camp, and though you’re subject to the laws of the realm, not the army code, unless we’re under attack, you are under discipline. Which as I’m the commander means my orders. But why are we having this conversation? You’ve been here less than two hours and you’re refusing to participate in basic routines? What _is_ your problem?”

            Lasner came up beside the youth. “You slander our Lord to death and have us thrown out of our lawful fief and you dare ask us what our problem is? You may call yourself a commander but you’re—”

            Kel wasn’t doing this again. “Watch your mouth, Master Lasner. Your thoughts are your own but you’ll observe courtesy here. Now, you accuse me of slandering Sir Arnolf, who is no longer your lord nor anyone’s—is that what Sir Voelden told you? And you believed him?”

            “He does not lie.”

            “Really? Will you take a gods’ oath you’ve never known Sir Voelden utter untruth? No? Well, I will tell you what I know _and_ back it with a gods’ oath that I speak truth.”

            She did, scrupulously distinguishing what she had witnessed from report and naming sources, from the gates of New Hope to the Council chamber and official notification. When she made the circle and chimes sounded the steward’s face paled, as did others’.

            “So now you know. You may have loved your lord, or feared him. It doesn’t matter. He perjured himself to court and Council, even after the King warned him it wouldn’t be tolerated. He defrauded the realm and he failed you—all of you, or you wouldn’t be here and your neighbours and friends wouldn’t have been here most of a year already. I know it’s hard and you’re all tired and upset but ask them before you decide. You’ll find them two and three barracks up from you—see how they’re faring before you reckon up the lies you’ve been told.”

            She left them abashed with some looking thoughtful, and hoped she’d nipped the problem in the bud. At dinner, now taken in shifts, Petrin sought her out and told her that from what he could make out they’d been told all manner of nonsense.

            “There was slanders of you, Lady Kel, like that fool Tirrsmont said when he was here, but also nightmare stuff—that our immortals ate people and did unspeakable things, gods know what. Anyone with any sense knew it had to be rubbish, but it got hammered in, I’m afraid, and Steward Lasner and his gang said it all over again twice as loud if anyone disagreed. They’re realising, but it’ll take time.”

            “I thought it must be something like that. Thank you, Petrin. And Lasner’s no steward now, though I’ll grant him ‘master’ in courtesy. I’d be glad if you and other former Tirrsmonters who’ve been here a while can do all you can to set them straight. The young man who challenged me was … a sort I’ve known make real trouble for others, and he called our immortals monsters.”

            “Yes, there’s a lot of fear about that. I can’t blame them, exactly, Lady Kel—Kuriaju’s as nice a being as you could meet, and after working with him these months I’m proud to call him friend. But the first time I saw a ten-foot ogre looking down at me my stomach churned, I don’t mind admitting. I’ve still to take a breath if I’ve to speak to Quenuresh, for all I know she’s no threat while I respect her and her kin.”

            “I know, Petrin. Try it with half-a-dozen stormwings or an eighty-five-foot dragon sometime.”

            He swallowed. “I’d as soon not, Lady Kel, if it’s all the same to you.”

            “Alright.” Her smile faded. “But while I’ll give them time to adjust, I’ll not stand hostility to our immortals. Every one of them has worked to build New Hope, and anyone moving in has to accept that. I cannot jeopardise the treaties, and won’t. I did tell them, but young men aren’t good at listening, so please do what you can to make sure they know it.”

            “I have and I will, Lady Kel, but I think you’re right to fear trouble of that kind. Difference brings out the worst in folk.”

            He and all the old-hand former Tirrsmonters did their best, and Kel made sure they were free to act as mentors as integration began. She circulated, with Jump and Nari, trying to make herself approachable with more success among children than adults. Neal, Morri, and Temon, Company Fourteen’s healer, made visible inroads into suspicion and mistrust by working to help ill children and elders, and beginning a programme of examination and treatment that as with the convict soldiers had Neal fuming. Tirrsmont’s care of those loyal to him had not included much in the way of mage services, and Neal swore there were adults who’d barely seen a healer in their lives yet suffered from one or another minor condition that could easily have been treated but, untreated, had become anything from uncomfortable to life-threatening.

            “Healers cost money, Neal, and Tirrsmont’s luxury came first.”

            “Gods! He should be … well, he has been, I suppose. Or will be. But he should be all over again.”

            “Oddly, I know what you mean.”

            “I wish I could feed him to Cloestra, Kel. She needs the meal and he deserves to be it.” Surprised at the real rancour in his voice Kel quirked an eyebrow. “There’re people who were _scared_ of me, Kel—of any healer. Gods know what lies they’d been fed but _anyone_ who does such a thing deserves hanging. It’s tyrannous, malicious, and plain dim.”

            Kel let him vent, not disagreeing but feeling beyond new fury at revelations of what lords like Tirrsmont did, and wondering what healer services for commoners were like at Stone Mountain, Genlith, or Runnerspring. It wasn’t only attracting and paying for healers that mattered but a fief’s attitude to hedgewitches among its population, and the cult of the Gentle Mother had been against women training in any form of the Gift—oddly to Kel’s mind, as it meant they shouldn’t become midwives, but then that whole cult was odd.

            The arrival of the livestock and restoration to its owners, so people got credit for what went to the cooks and the labour of horses, helped, but Kel knew there were two problems. One was general fear induced by falsehoods, and that was decreasing as people saw mortals and immortals talking, working and eating together. The other was malice towards her, and by extension New Hope, harboured by the former steward and younger men associated with him. That had less to do with lies, though they had played a part in creating it, than with loss of status, habituation to having authority, and need for someone to blame—and on the third evening it blew wide open.

            Kel was leading glaive practice when a sound she’d never heard brought her whipping round to see Amiir’aan stagger backwards from a barrack doorway, paws to head. Even before the stone clattered to the ground she was snapping orders.

            “You, get Sir Neal, you, Zerhalm, you, St’aara and Var’istaan. _Run_. The rest of you, get everyone out of that barracks now, at glaive point if necessary, in a group out here.” She was half-way to Amiir’aan, voice rising to battle mode. “ _Move_ , people.”

            Her arms went round the basilisk as they would round any injured youngling, lifting him as the armed women headed for the doorway, faces tight with anger. Nari landed on her shoulder, peeping anxiously.

            “Amiir’aan, are you alright? Let me see. Gently, now. You’re safe. Let me look.”

            He took his paws away and she could see oozing silver blood and a dark swelling spreading from the wound across his pebbled skin. She reached for a clean handkerchief, gently staunching blood.

            “It hurts, Lady Kel, but I think I am alright. I almost caught the stone but I was taken by surprise.”

            She saw one paw was bruised too, though not bleeding. Rage filled her as people began to be herded out of the barracks. “Of course you were, sweeting. Anyone would be. Did you see who threw the stone?”

            “A boy, I think, but I did not see clearly. I am sorry.”

            “Don’t you be sorry for anything, Amiir’aan. We’ll find out who it was and what happened.”

            Neal arrived at a run and took over cleaning the wound as she held Amiir’aan, who hissed pain but made no complaint. St’aara arrived, with Zerhalm and Var’istaan not far behind, and Kel explained what she’d seen. St’aara’s whispering voice held anger and sadness.

            “May I see, Sir Nealan? Ah, that is not too bad. He will be alright.”

            “My Gift’s no use to a basilisk, St’aara, but I can stitch the wound. Zerhalm, can you do anything?”

            “I do not know. May I try, St’aara?”

            Permission granted, Zerhalm rested hands on Amiir’aan’s head and closed his eyes. “I cannot knit flesh, as for one of the People, but I can sense no deeper injury and some magic has been absorbed.”

            “The swelling’s down, Zerhalm.” Neal was watching closely. “And the bleeding’s stopped. I think a bandage might be enough, but I don’t know anything about basilisk healing.”

            “We are strong, Sir Nealan, and our bones do not break easily. It would heal faster in the Divine Realms but it will be only a few days even here. I thank you all for your care of my son.”

            “It’s the least we could do, St’aara, and we’re going to find out who threw that stone and why. Amiir’aan, sweeting, what did you need here?”

            “I wanted to make friends and show them we are not dangerous, as they seem to think.”

            “Oh sweeting, I know. They’ve been told all sorts of silly lies. Here, you go to your ma. Nari, stay with him?” St’aara stooped to steady him, Nari fluttering to his shoulder, and Kel stood, finding Brodhelm, Merric, Mikal, and Uinse had been drawn by her shout; Fanche and Saefas stood a few feet away. “And the lies are no excuse for this. Someone’s going to pay. With me, all of you.”

            She strode to the group forcibly evacuated from the barracks, unsurprised to see Lasner as well as the young troublemaker and his friends among them. The armed women and the growing crowd ringing them fell silent, openly hostile.

            “Who threw that stone?” Feet shuffled but no-one came forward. “Alright, we’ll do it the hard way. Each of you will stand under the Honesty Gate and whoever cannot deny it will be known. Get them moving.”

            “It was Chervey.” A woman stepped forward, pushing at her neighbour’s hand on her arm. “Why should we all suffer for his stupidity, Ana? It was Chervey.” She pointed to a gangly boy of twelve or thirteen, fright etched on his face.

            “You, Chervey, come here. _Come here._ ” Though her mind was clear Kel was as angry as she had ever been and her voice cracked command; it would have taken a stronger will than Chervey’s to disobey and he took a halting step. Impatient, she closed the distance in two long strides. “There’s no point lying. Did you throw that stone at Amiir’aan? _Did you?_ ”

            Mutely he nodded, terror on his face. She kept her voice level.

            “Why?”

            “It’s a monster.”

            “Amiir’aan is _not_ a monster. He’s a basilisk and a _child_. Look at him with his mother—he’s _young_ , and he was doing you no harm. Why did you throw a stone at him now?”

            He hung his head but she saw his eyes dart sideways, and the smirk on the young troublemaker’s face.

            _I am a lake a lake a lake._ “Chervey, look at me.” She turned his head with strong fingers. “Did someone tell you to throw it? Or encourage you? Do I have to take you to the Honesty Gate?”

            The force of her gaze squeezed the answer out of him. “Gothas.”

            She swung to the young man. “You’re Gothas?” He said nothing and she looked at Lasner. “Is he?”

            “Yes, that’s Gothas.” He swallowed. “My lady.”

            “And where are Chervey’s parents?”

            “Dead, my Lady. Killed last year.”

            “Who looks after him?’

            “No-one, really, my Lady. He’s been scrounging where he can.”

            “Gods, what is _wrong_ with you people? Did you encourage Gothas in this, Lasner? I will know if you lie.”

            He drew himself up. “I did not. I dislike what has happened and make no secret of it, but I did not tell Gothas to attack anyone.”

            She believed him and gazed at the smirking youth. “So, Gothas, you decided on your own to tell a boy to stone a child. Why?”

            “I didn’t.”

            “Swear that by gods’ oath and I’ll believe you.”

            He sneered. “I’m not answering you. You’ve no power over me.”

            “Wrong, Gothas. If you dare not deny it by gods’ oath I’ll hold you guilty of instigating this attack. Last chance.”

            “You do what you like, monster’s bitch. Those things have no place among men.”

            “Wrong again, Gothas, formerly of Tirrsmont.” Her anger was ice and her voice deadly calm. Gothas tried to step back but people behind closed ranks. “For your actions you will spend a week in the secure cell on bread and water. At the end of that week you will apologise on your knees to Amiir’aan and St’aara and spend three months on latrine duty. Or remain confined until peace comes, as a danger to this community and to far more than you understand. Brodhelm, Uinse, take him to the cell.”

            Those behind pushed Gothas forward, and he was frog-marched off, shouts fading as he disappeared from view. The silence was painful.

            “Now, we need some lessons here. Chervey, listen very carefully. How old are you?”

            His face crumpled. “Fifteen.”

            He looked younger and Kel had an appalling vision of a life as stunted as his growth. “Do you understand what you risked, because a bully told you to do something vile? Attacking any immortal that isn’t attacking you is as stupid as it gets. Let me show you.”

            She took from her pocket one of the apples she kept for Peachblossom and held it for him to see, then above her head.

            “An ordinary apple, see?” She took a bite and swallowed, then held out her hand with the apple balanced on it. “Var’istaan, would you be kind enough to petrify it, please?”

            “It would be safer if I held it, Protector.”

            “I trust you, Var’istaan—I’ve seen your craftwork.”

            His look was unfathomable. “Very well.” He stooped, angling his snout until it was precisely aligned with the apple from below. The thin shrieking amid clattering pebbles of the rock spell hurt her ears but she didn’t flinch as grey flooded away the apple’s colour and its weight rose abruptly; she felt the coolness of stone.

            “Thank you, Var’istaan. Feel this, Chervey.” She tossed it and he caught it by reflex, gaping. “Solid stone, my bite-mark preserved. Let others see and feel—pass it round. If you attack a basilisk, Chervey, it’s going to defend itself. Only Amiir’aan’s self-control means you’re not stone right now. And while Var’istaan’s shown how precise a basilisk can be, any being defending itself against sudden attack isn’t going to be worrying about precision. If Amiir’aan had rock-spelled you, as he had every right once you attacked him, he could have caught other people too. You didn’t just risk yourself, Chervey. You risked everyone by you.”

            She spoke to him directly but pitched her voice to carry.

            “Second thing. If you’re fifteen, you’re responsible for what you do. You could have killed Amiir’aan, and if you had you’d hang. Gothas too. Have you seen anyone hanged?”

            “Bandits.” His voice was a whisper. “Scanrans the Lord captured.”

            “Then you know what you risked. And for what? Because an idiot told you to hurt a child and you had no wit or courage to refuse. So now we have a problem.” She looked round. “St’aara, what justice do you require of Chervey?”

            Her look was as unfathomable as Var’istaan’s. “I am content to leave it to you, Protector. You care for us all.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes.”

            “Very well. Thank you. Amiir’aan, is there justice you require?”

            “I wish to understand why he attacked me. I wanted only to say hello to people and to see if there was anything I could do to help them.”

            “Alright. Then here it is, Chervey. You’re going to do three things. First, apologise to Amiir’aan, right now, so everyone can hear. Clear? Good. Second, go with him and St’aara and Sir Neal to the infirmary, and _see_ what you did, explain to him why you did it, and think about the fact the only reason you’re not dead right now is because he _didn’t_ attack you, even when you attacked him. _Anything_ he asks, you answer. Clear?” He nodded, beginning to look shamefaced rather than terrified. It was a start. “Third, if Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Petrin are willing, for the rest of the week you’re going to work with them on the tunnel. You ask them questions, and they ask you questions back. Var’istaan?”

            “I am willing, Protector, and I am sure others will be. This is a good solving, and I thank you for your wisdom.”

            She marvelled at the basilisks’ calm. If the positions were reversed she doubted many mortals could do as well. “No thanks are needed, Var’istaan, and many apologies due. We start with Chervey’s.”

            It wasn’t much of an apology but the boy stammered something and Amiir’aan’s natural grace and friendliness spared him further blushes.

            “I accept, Chervey, but I want to understand why you felt I threatened you. Come with us, as the Protector commands, and tell me.”

            “Neal, escort him? Thank you.”

            Neal gripped Chervey’s shoulder and steered him with St’aara and Amiir’aan towards the infirmary, Zerhalm behind them. Kel turned back to the group from the barracks.

            “And you, all of you, the lesson’s not just for Chervey or Gothas. You were all there. Some of you must have known what was planned—an attack on a _child_. And did _nothing_.” Her gaze found Gothas’s friends. “I’m betting every one of you fools knew. Will you deny it?” Silence and foot shuffling. “You’re all on latrine duty for three days. Merric, take them when I’m done. And Master Lasner, report to me tomorrow after breakfast. My office. We have things to discuss.” Merric nodded promptly, Lasner reluctantly, and Kel drew breath. “Right now you stand, every one of you, on mud Amiir’aan petrified. You sleep in barracks with a stone roof to protect against fire-arrows. Guess who petrified that so you sleep safely. And your reply is a stone thrown at a child who has already done more for us than all of you put together could manage in a year. I don’t care what lies your former lord or his son told you, that is close to unforgivable and if there’s any repetition, anything, from any of you, you’ll find out exactly why they call me Protector of the Small. I didn’t kill Stenmun Kinslayer and Blayce the Necromancer so Tortallans could take up murdering children where they left off. Digest your shame and mend your ways.”

            Merric and half-a-dozen soldiers took Gothas’s friends to join the squad on latrine duty, and the rest returned to their barracks, eyes cast down. Kel looked around.

            “Alright, people, show’s over. And so’s practice time—what a waste!”

            The line got the laugh she’d angled for, and the crowd began to disperse, many bowing or curtseying. Var’istaan and Kuriaju, whom she hadn’t seen arrive, also bowed, and she gazed at their retreating backs with amazement. Yuki laid a hand on her arm.

            “Come, Keladry- _chan_ , and have some tea before we go to dinner.”

 

* * * * *

 

Kel’s meeting with Lasner was tense but in the end productive, though she could only hope she hadn’t struck a bad bargain by agreeing that if Lasner applied himself to _help_ settle his people she would implicitly recognise his standing among them. When she’d explained about the Council he wanted a seat but she was adamant.

            “No chance, Master Lasner. Mortal civilians are represented by Fanche Miller and Saefas Ploughman, and Zerhalm, who all _earned_ their authority at Rathhausak. Quenuresh, Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Barzha Razorwing represent their kinds. My captains and knights have seats because they control defence, patrolling, and healing. You don’t walk on because you held steward’s rank in a dissolved fief. When peace comes, or if numbers grow, there might be a case for another civilian seat, and if so you can compete for it. It’ll depend on how well you do, and how useful to survival and victory you’ve become.”

            This he accepted with a calculating look, leaving her to conclude he was one of those who blew with the wind, whatever it was, and if she were it he’d probably do his best for her. He could be trusted—relied on, at least—to be self-interested, and much as she despised trimming it was better than false submission or outright hostility. After their discussion she called in Brodhelm, Uinse, Mikal, Neal, Fanche and Saefas, and Adner, and they spent the morning going through the former Tirrsmonters’ situation in detail. There were gaping weaknesses—not least the situation of orphans like Chervey, for whom no care had been arranged, and untreated endemic illness—but also strengths New Hope needed to exploit. She explained her standing orders and the need, pure and simple, for _everyone_ to be trained with bow, sling, and whatever they could master. Her priorities bewildered Lasner, and the egalitarian aspects disturbed his sense of order, but once he grasped the overriding need of defence he began to see the method in what he had thought madness, and a certain enthusiasm for the efficiency of her arrangements kindled in his eyes.

            After the door closed behind him Neal blew out a breath. “I need to wash. He couldn’t care less for anyone except himself.”

            “True, but we want him pissing out, not in. Be scrupulous about calling him Master Lasner, please—it’s the sort of thing that matters to him—but hold him to the mark. Dissolving Tirrsmont and sending these people here like this has given us a serious problem, and you can be sure I’ll let that be known.” She was already contemplating how to word her first letter to the King as one of his Councillors. “Meantime we have to deal with it. Uinse, please get Jacut and some others—the kind people listen to—to talk to Gothas when they feed him. Make it clear we’re not messing—if he doesn’t do what he has to, in good heart, he _will_ stay confined. I think Chervey will be alright with proper care and experience of working with Var’istaan and Kuriaju. For the rest, we’ll have to see. How are people taking what happened? Brodhelm?”

            “The bows and curtseys said it, Lady Kel. Strong disapproval of Gothas and his friends, _very_ strong approval of your judgements.”

            “Surprise, too.” Uinse spread hands at her look of enquiry. “I don’t think anyone’s seen you angry like that before, Lady Kel—you were _smoking_ and they thought heads would roll. But they liked what you did and agree Chervey’s a tool and Gothas is poison.”

            “Same among civilians.” Fanche grinned at Kel. “If it wasn’t for Amiir’aan’s injury it would have been fun to watch. Smoking’s right—like a log on the fire just before it ignites. Tobe tells me you looked like that when you called the gods down on Torhelm.”

            Kel blinked. “I did?”

            “So he says, and Irnai agrees. Is there a secret to it, Lady Kel? How to be that angry and still channel it how you want instead of exploding all over? It works a treat.”

            “Grow up in Yaman, face lifelong hostility for being who you are, show up almost everyone as fools, and get sent back by the Black God.” Neal voice was dry. “That ought to do it.” Fanche grinned as Kel thought of lakes. “But I don’t think there were any gods about last night. Were there, Kel?”

            “What? Oh, gods. No, I don’t think so. I did feel … what? icy, I suppose, and I remember being like that with Torhelm, but nothing was edged in silver. No battlecry or hounds or soughing wind either, so no, no gods.” She woke to the stares everyone was giving her. “What?”

            “Edged in silver, Kel?”

            “Well, yes, sort of. But that was when three gods were about to act and time slowed down, like it does sometimes on a battlefield.”

            “Strangely, that does make sense.” She glared, to no avail whatever. “So that _was_ just you last night. In which case I can add one more time, maybe—I didn’t see it but I heard the Stump describing what you looked like after Joren’s trial when you slammed the King about the law on noble interference with servants, and it sounded similar. Smoking ice and dead level voice going right through people. He said the only thing he’d seen like it was Lord Raoul in a killing rage, but by that stage he’d have gone physical and you were wholly focused through your voice.”

            “Gah!”

            Kel left them crossly to a lively discussion of rages they had known and went to help Chervey haul stone. She came in on a discussion of basilisks’ liking for travel and diplomacy, as well as stonework, and ogres’ preferences for mining, farming, or fighting, and let it run before telling Chervey about arrangements for his schooling and assignment to carers who’d be responsible for making sure he was clothed, fed, and trained. His astonishment was revealing, and as she talked about what training sessions and work rosters appealed she knew he wasn’t a bad lad, just a lonely one without much character who’d wanted company and approval. If it were provided officially he’d be loyal enough.

            The ripples of what had happened spread. Whether it was shame, the efforts of Lasner, or the absence of Gothas Kel wasn’t sure but the Tirrsmonters did seem to undergo a change of heart and try to fit in. Certainly they obeyed standing orders and were punctual in showing up for work and training, though their incompetence with all weapons—having been forbidden them at Tirrsmont—made it slow going, and Kel knew they’d be a burden, not an asset, for months. At the same time Amiir’aan and the young ogres acquired a wariness around newcomers Kel hated to see, but adult immortals were pleased with events in a strange way, as St’aara explained when Kel asked her why she wasn’t more upset.

            “We knew that day would come, Protector. The confidence you have given mortals in dealing with us astonishes—we are used to attitudes like Chervey’s and Gothas’s, and knew sooner or later they would manifest. The question was how you would respond and that pleases us.”

            Kel stared at her. “But what else could I have done? To attack Amiir’aan when he was doing nothing amiss …”

            “Just so, Protector—you did not see your own kind and another. You saw a victim and found the guilty one.” Her whispery voice took on an odd tone. “Quenuresh wins our bets—she said you would be without prejudice, even in anger. We were doubtful. We should not have been.”

            “Oh.” Kel didn’t know what to say. “Well, thank you, but I couldn’t condone such malevolence. And I hate to see Amiir’aan so wary now.”

            “It will do him no harm to learn caution. And he has become quite friendly with Chervey, trying to explain things. He was surprised by what Chervey believed but I reminded him how young that mortal is.”

            It was true that boy and basilisk were often now seen together, Amiir’aan petrifying small things for a fascinated Chervey, and endlessly explaining about what kinds of immortal were dangerous in what ways—lessons that drew in other children among the newcomers. That helped children integrate and sight of the pair had its own effects on adults. Gothas’s friends were another matter, though, remaining hostile to all in a tight-knit group; nor had Gothas taken anything to heart except pride and loathing, and his adamant refusal to apologise to any monster meant Kel had no choice but to keep him confined. She fretted, and two days after what should have been his week on bread and water put in a spellmirror call to Vanget and Wyldon. Vanget grunted.

            “There was bound to be someone stupid, Kel, and it sounds as if you handled it well. The treaties are far more important than a hothead.”

            Wyldon agreed. “It’s not as if this Gothas has a case. He’s suffered no injustice at anyone’s hands but Tirrsmont’s—Sir Arnolf’s, I mean—and instigated an unprovoked attack. Young Amiir’aan’s alright?”

            “He seems to be though he was shaken, of course. So I just keep Gothas confined on bread and water?”

            “Well, you’re not equipped to hold prisoners long term, are you?” Vanget was thoughtful. “Tell you what, pick out a couple of squads that need exercise and send him and his friends to Northwatch. I’ll enlist ’em. Army service’ll beat that nonsense out and they’ll find badmouthing you or New Hope here will land them in a world of hurt.”

            “It will?”

            “Oh yes. Most of my lads passed through Tirrsmont at least once and they hate Arnolf with a passion, if only for the food he served ’em while he stuffed himself. When I read ’em Turomot’s proclamation they cheered—insubordinate lot.” His tone was warm, affection plain. “And you’re _still_ not allowing sufficiently for being their heroine, Kel. Your appointment to the Council’s _very_ popular, so you send young Gothas and his friends along and we’ll teach ’em the error of their ways.”

            Kel was uncertain about the justice of this but accepted gratefully; having a treacherous equivalent of Quinden at New Hope was a headache she didn’t need. She turned to another thing on her mind.

            “I’m sorry to say it, but Ettenor of Aili didn’t do a very good job at Tirrsmont—he left livestock and delivered people more distressed than necessary. But to be fair, he doesn’t have much experience and his orders from, I assume, the King seem to have been … inadequate.”

            “They probably were.” Wyldon rubbed his forehead. “I did talk to His Majesty about Tirrsmont before I left but he was preoccupied with a Tyran ambassador wanting to negotiate for Lianne’s hand.”

            “Well, he needs to know he caused a problem. There’s an issue regarding further spidrens who might turn up, as well, so I’ve written him a letter. I wondered if you’d tell me if it’s alright.”

            She read them her draft and there was a brief silence before Vanget exploded with laughter, slapping his knee as Alanna had done outside the temples.

            “Oh that’s priceless. Polite as you like and a comprehensive dressing-down just the same. You send it right along.”

            Wyldon’s mouth had also twitched once or twice, but he was more cautious. “He was at fault, Keladry, but does have many concerns. Still, none should be more pressing than war, and what you say is entirely correct. I would tone down that last paragraph— _uninformed_ for _ignorant_ , perhaps, and _avoidable_ for _needless_. I’m not sure I like the amnesty for any spidrens that turn up, but I see the logic and the more we can get under treaty the better. You handle the business of Ettenor’s inexperience very well, and all of it needs saying.”

            So Kel made the changes and sent the letter. She wrote it herself, and asked Heliana to make the copy for files, cautioning her that it was strictly private correspondence. Eyes alight with amusement Heliana solemnly promised she’d tell no-one, and showed Kel two more proposals of marriage that had come in. She read them, wondering how people so obviously deranged made it to adulthood.

            “The usual reply. That’s what? Five, now? Are they all mad?”

            “Just ambitious, I think, Lady Kel.”

            “ _Ambitious?_ Huh. Well, bother the lot of them. Would you accept a stranger’s proposal by letter? It seems more insulting than flattering.”

            “You are exceptionally eligible, though, Lady Kel—in your own right, but especially with Mindelan’s elevation to a duchy.”

            “Are you serious, Heliana? I was called the whore of Tortall before I’d started monthlies and it’s been made clear often enough no man in his right mind wants a woman who can outfight him, never mind one who talks to gods. And”—she hesitated, but there was no-one else she could ask such a thing, even Yuki—“I know word spread.” Her voice went flat. “I was raped. It’s not usually a recommendation.”

            Heliana’s face was austere, her voice gentle. “Yes, we heard, Lady Kel, but it wasn’t said like that and that’s not what people thought. Not at Mindelan, and certainly not here. You protected your people, killing another mage and six tauroses. Then you were killed yourself but the Black God and Lord Mithros sent you back because we need you.”

            Kel squirmed. “That last bit’s not accurate.” She told Heliana about the tauroses being Chaos-touched. “It broke a rule the gods have about Uusoae. If it wasn’t for that the Black God wouldn’t have returned me.”

            “Maybe so, Lady Kel, but we _do_ need you. That’s what people know and what makes sense to them.” She hesitated. “Forgive me, but have you … known a man?”

            Kel met her eyes. “No. I was a virgin when I was raped.”

            “Then you still are in every way that matters. It’s a strange thing, knowing a man, but it can be very good.” Heliana saw Kel’s surprise and blushed. “I don’t have parents or elder brothers to run off every boy who shows an interest, so it was my decision. I waited a long time, if not so long as you, and I don’t regret it, any of it.”

            “Is he waiting for you?”

            “No. nothing like that. He was a soldier on leave, as lonely and hurting as I was. We’re friends, no more. But it was right for us, and it’ll be so for you when you meet the right man.” Her eyes became mischievous. “I do understand why you’re not impressed with these proposals, though. They could at least make them in person, eh?”

            That night Kel lay awake a long time, thinking about what Heliana had said with considerable bafflement before deciding it was still just that the men she wanted weren’t men who wanted her, and relieving her frustrations in the only way she knew. It was all very unsatisfactory but there was nothing to be done, and Heliana’s confidence came to seem bitterly hollow a few days later when, as she led evening glaive practice, she was interrupted by one of Uinse’s soldiers saying someone had arrived to see her. The squads who’d taken Gothas and friends to Northwatch had returned and no-one was expected, so leaving Yuki in charge she made her way to the gate, glaive in hand, and nearly dropped it when she saw Dom standing beside a tired-looking horse. She went towards him, a wide smile on her face, but was brought up short when he drew himself awkwardly up and bowed.

            “Lady Knight Commander. You said this was an astonishing fort and I see you weren’t exaggerating. Might we talk, please, in private?”

            “Of course we can, Dom. Neal didn’t say you were coming.”

            “He doesn’t know. I’d like to speak to you first, if I may.”

            “Of course.” She wasn’t hurt, exactly, but his stiffness worried her. “Let me show you where you can stable your horse. Tobe’ll unsaddle him and rub him down.” Before he could object she sent Uinse’s man for Tobe. “It’s this way.”

            As he followed she saw his limp was severe and noticed the lines of a leg brace running from knee to ankle.

            “Neatly done, Kel, but I can rub down my own horse, thank you.”

            She took the offensive. “Why should you after a day’s ride when there’s someone happy to do it for you? Your injury has nothing to do with courtesy and common sense. I’m glad you found a brace that works, though. Is it in that new Carthaki metal?”

            “Yes.” His teeth gritted. “Uncle Baird said that was your idea. Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome. Master Randall showed it me—he makes armoured jerkins with it, and I bought barding for Alder from him.”

            “Alder?”

            “My warhorse, now. Peachblossom had to retire.”

            “He did? What happened?”

            “His right hind was smashed by the tauros that killed me.” He dropped his eyes, saying nothing, so he’d heard; at least she didn’t have to explain. “Zerhalm, Quenuresh, and Daine saved his life but he can’t bear me in armour or gallop.”

            They reached the stables in uncomfortable silence, but when Tobe burst in he simply threw arms around Dom in a hard hug. Almost in reflex, but nevertheless, Dom’s arms closed round the boy.

            “Oof! Steady, Tobe. How are you?”

            “I’m alright, Sergeant Dom. How are you? Ma and Sir Neal said you was injured, like poor old Peachblossom. Is it healed now?”

            “Yes, Tobe, as much as it ever will be. And I’m not a sergeant any more—I had to stop all that.”

            “Oh. Peachblossom did too, but he does night rounds and keeps the sentries alert. Is that what you’re going to do?”

            “Something like that, I hope.” He shot an appealing glance at Kel. “I need to talk to … your Ma about it first, though.”

            “Will you see to Dom’s horse, please, Tobe? Then ask the cooks if they’ll bring dinner for two to my office, and ask Sir Neal and Lady Yuki to find me there after they’ve eaten. Don’t tell them Dom’s here. He wants it to be a surprise.”

            “Sure. It’s good to see you, Sergeant Dom. We worried about you.”

            “I said, I’m not a sergeant any more, Tobe.”

            Tobe looked baffled. “But soldiers keep their ranks when they retire, don’t they? Or are you something else, now?”

            “Sergeant’s fine, Tobe.” Kel’s voice held a note of warning. “I think Dom just finds it odd, still.”

            “Oh. I’ll see to the horse. What’s his name?”

            “Butter. As in butting. You’ll see why.”

            “He won’t give any trouble, will you, Butter?”

            With the gelding already slobbering affection Kel led Dom to her office. Stairs were awkward for him, and though he didn’t use his hands to lift his braced leg wasn’t far off it, swinging it widely at each step.

            “It’s getting stronger. Slowly.” His voice was strained.

            “Muscle wounds are slow to heal.”

            “Tell me.”

            In her office he sat, leg stuck out, and buried his face in his hands.

            “I’m making a complete hash of this, aren’t I? Curse it.”

            “I don’t know what this is, Dom, but you seem to believe I’ll think less of you because you were injured or coping is making you cranky.” Gentleness wasn’t the way. “Which gods know I understand, but is silly just the same.” His head jerked. “Do you think less of me for being raped and killed? Or believe me crippled inside any less than you?”

            “Gods … I … of course not.”

            “Well, then. Why don’t you start over? The last news I had of you was a five-line letter that said you were fine.”

            He looked up, face twisting. “I’m sure it had more than five lines.”

            “I counted. And you’re clearly not fine. Why are you here. Dom, and how can I help?”

            “I’m hoping you can find me something useful to do. I’m no good to my brother—he doesn’t need a bad clerk and riding the estate every day kills my leg—and no good to myself, either. And all the good wishes from here … I’m sorry I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. But I thought I could help you as an armourer or something. Be of some use to someone.”

            His humility was painful. “Alright. I know how good you are with weapons and command. Tell me plain what you can’t do.”

            He swallowed. “Move fast, climb, stay standing in a fight or for more than an hour, fight on horseback.”

            “Mmm. I bet Daine could fix Butter so he allows for the lighter pressure of your injured leg. She’s magicked Alder to be smart, and he might understand what’s needed if you show and Tobe tells him. What?”

            “You’re so practical, and it’s balm, it’s what I want, and it hurts.”

            “Facing loss does, Dom. But it hurts anyway, so there’s no point tip-toeing about it.” He didn’t need to know how much being practical might be hurting her. “Now, I’ve three companies—two regular with staffs, Mastiff Eighth, under Brodhelm of Frasrlund, with Merric attached and Northwatch Fourteenth, under Mikal of Holtwood, with Seaver attached; then New Hope First, under Uinse and Jacut, with a partial staff because we don’t have mages for them but Sir Prosper—Tameran—attached for his magecraft. You’re welcome to any post you can work out with any of them, if that’s what you want, but the problem with climbing makes regular duty on the walls awkward—access is all by stairways. And I can think of two other posts, for which I’m making up titles right now but not the need. One’s Training Master—we’ve just taken in the rest of the Tirrsmonters and they were forbidden weapons. They’re way behind everyone else and integrating them into regular training—which includes glaive and sling—is a real headache. The other’s, um, Captain of the Corral, on the other side of the fin. Right now it’s got a wall that’s just the screepile heaped up and bonded, an iron gate, and one small stable put up for Peachblossom when he was injured, but it’s getting more as fast as possible—proper internal structures, crenellations and alure, rocks suspended under merlons, a spiked moat, abatis, and anything else we think of. The western building team is due in a few weeks.”

            “A fortified _corral_?”

            “Yes. We’ve found a way through the fin we’re tunnelling now, one horse wide and high. I don’t want a Captain of the Sally Port, because we’re not advertising we’re going to have one, but that’s the job.”

            “A way _through_ the fin? Mithros! That’s … I’d do that happily, Kel, but that has to be an army appointment and I’m not fit for one.”

            “I’ll grant official dispensation.”

            He looked shocked. “You can’t do that. Can you?”

            “Commander’s Regulations, Section B, Wartime, _46\. A commander may at need induct or conscript into the army any person save nobles, regardless of normal procedures and exemption. Proper rank may be granted for the duration, and wages are payable. Appeal against such conscription is only through the chain of command._ My chain of command is Wyldon, Vanget, and the King. They won’t argue.” She didn’t want to add the alternative but owed him the choice. “Or I can make a private appointment—same rank and wage, though a Council seat might be trickier.” She thought of what Lasner would say.

            “Gods. You _are_ a commander, aren’t you. And this place … I thought those sketches had to be exaggerated. But … I don’t know. Can you afford to do it privately?”

            “Easily. Lalasa tithes more than you’d believe, still. I can’t stop her. And there’ll be more from the other shops—you know about them?”

            “Oh yes, that word reached Masbolle. Uncle Baird told me. Huh. Captain of the Corral.” He tried to smile. “It has a ring.”

            “It does. But why don’t you want the dispensation, Dom? It’s not even a hard argument—you’ve more command experience than anyone here except Brodhelm, and the only impediment is a battlefield wound.”

            “It … I don’t know, Kel. You can’t bend regs for friendship.”

            “I’m not. I need someone in charge of the sally port—it’s going to be a small command most of the time and critical when the crunch comes. I thought it’d have to be Merric but I wasn’t happy. You’re a godsend.”

            For a horrible second she wondered if that were true but he didn’t notice, remaining reluctant, and she could see he thought it favouritism; only doing the job would cure that and she _really_ didn’t want him as her employee. “Dom, I’d say ask my Lord, but you’d think he was tipping the scales too. But you’re not friends with Wyldon or Vanget. Will you take the dispensation if they’re alright with it?”

            “Yes, alright. I’m sorry—it must seem very ungrateful. I’ve just not been thinking anything like that was possible.” He brightened. “And meantime I can do whatever I can with training, if there’s a couple of competent soldiers who can help correct people?”

            “Done. Did you ever read Orchan of Eridui? Hang on a minute.” She went to her rooms, returning with a clean codex. “Wyldon put me onto him, saying he wasn’t original but was clear and had an idea or two about mageblasts worth knowing. I got a copy bound in Corus. I’ve adapted him a bit but he underlies the design of New Hope’s defences. Have a look at that corral and think about what you want.”

            “I will. Kel, I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

            “We’re the ones gaining, Dom, in every way.” _And even if you hurt my heart it helps to see your eyes alight again._ “Think about yourself, too. Look at what we’ve done with the glacis and in the caves. The basilisks can shape stone pretty much as they will, so there’s no reason there can’t be a ramp up to the alure on the corral wall. We don’t know where the tunnel will come out but we’ll need a ramp there for horses. Internal design apart from the wall will have to wait until we do know but bits can be ready to be slotted in—stables, barracks, secondary headquarters, a farrier’s shop and weapon smithy. Oh, and centaurs use the stabling in winter, if snow’s bad. Herdmaster’s Whitelist—started prickly but settled down and we get on fine, so you’ll need to liaise.”

            “Centaurs. Alright. I’ve known decent centaurs. Are they trading?”

            “Yes—griffin and stormwing fletched arrows for basilisk stoneware. But we’re about to go into trade via Mindelan and Legann, so who knows?”

            “You’re what?”

            She laughed, her pain beginning to be cocooned. “Do you want to wait here for the food and Neal and Yuki? Or shall we collect Tobe and go to the messhall—it’s worth seeing—and I’ll tell you on the way? Then I can introduce you—volunteer veteran Sergeant of the Own, dealing with corral fortification, acting rank of captain. All the Havenites will be delighted. Be prepared for children, though, Dom—there’ll be questions about your leg and you’ll have to do better than you did with Tobe. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want, but you will have to answer.”

            “Yes. I’ll apologise to Tobe.” He hauled himself upright, wincing, and took a breath. “I can do this.”

 

* * * * *

 

Those who knew Dom _were_ delighted, none more than Neal, though his concern was evident and he dragged his cousin off to do whatever he might to ease discomfort. Brodhelm and other captains were pleased to have another experienced man, however incapacitated, and relieved by the organisation Dom soon brought to training sessions, running a separate stream for raw Tirrsmonters. Adner was less happy with the need to release them during mornings, but did no more than grumble.

            As he recovered from the strain of more than a fortnight’s hard riding Dom’s mobility improved. When he was fresh his limp was less pronounced and ability to negotiate steps much greater. By afternoon, after leading the training, he needed to sit, and that time was devoted to work with the horses. Alder readily understood what was needed to restore Dom’s control, and managed to get something through to Butter, who Tobe said was more cunning than smart but wanted to help. It gave Kel a chance to attend to a matter she knew she’d been neglecting, and she got Dom, with Tobe’s help, to fit Alder with his barding and work with both horses; as she had during her page years, Alder needed to work with increased weight to build wind and stamina.

            Kel took to riding Hoshi wearing half-armour for the same reason, and four days after Dom’s arrival, having made a scheduled visit to Quenuresh and learned the griffins had agreed to spell the gate at Northwatch next time they were over that way, she met Dom at the corral. He was working with Butter and she was experimentally adding her weight to Alder’s barding when the alarm sounded and she whirled in the saddle to see a dozen Scanran archers spurring out of the gulley that led to the Mastiff trail.

            Their target was a group shoring up a section of the nearer bank eroded by spring floods, and what they didn’t seem to realise was that as well as the half-squad of longbowmen on guard all twenty civilians had slings and plenty of good ammunition piled around them. By the time the first arrows from the Scanran’s short bows landed wide two flights of needleheads were in the air, and the Scanrans who stayed alive and in the saddle ran into well-aimed barrages of stones at fifty yards from the far bank, and again at twenty. One New Hoper was down with an arrow in his thigh and Kel could see blood on another’s forehead but the skirmish was effectively over long before Kel could get even half-way there and her mind was screaming at her that it had been far too easy.

            “Everyone to the corral, and all livestock, _now!_ Captain Domitan’s in charge. Sergeant Olleric, when everyone’s in take two squads over the river to deal with that mess. _Move_ , people. There’ll be a second attack.”

            Pulling out her horn she sounded the continuing alert and heard it repeated beyond the fin. People were moving as fast as they could in wet earth and most livestock seemed to want to cooperate, but though Jump and other dogs kept animals moving it was slow business. She saw Dom take Butter into the corral, leading Hoshi, and a moment after they’d vanished he reappeared by the gate, counting people in. Blessing discipline, she started Alder towards the end of the fin and heard the second alarm she’d known must come, from beyond Haven. Mounted squads were heading north, the air full of horncalls, and she urged Alder to the best speed he could sustain. It was fortunate he wasn’t tired but in the barding he was slower than either of them liked, and the squads who’d been north of the fin stayed ahead. After a thundering, seemingly endless three miles she could see her people engaging mounted Scanrans who must have come through broken ground to the east, beyond the cliff. She couldn’t see how many but clearly more than in the first attack, and other squads were converging from further north. Men were down, riderless horses scattering.

            Arrows flew in her direction, one clattering off a cuisse and another off some part of Alder’s barding. She couldn’t see the archers but her glaive was in her hand and she drove into a knot of Scanrans retreating from Connac’s squad on their far side. Tortallan destriers were bigger than Scanran horses and the barding’s weight became an advantage as Alder sent horses slamming and stumbling into one another, unseating riders, while she used the glaive with deadly, economic chops and stabs. None of her opponents wore plate, only chain-mail at best, and iron links couldn’t stop Yamani steel. A fourth man fell as she severed his arm and Alder’s swerve brought her attention to two axemen in time to gut one and dodge the other’s flailing stroke as Alder dipped his shoulder to slam into his mount, knocking it down. A slashing hoof completed the job as Kel took another man from the side and just held her blow as Connac came up beside her.

            “They’re breaking, Lady Kel, but they’ll reform. There must’ve been a hundred of ’em and we’re still outnumbered.”

            She could see he was right—Scanrans were disengaging—and her voice cut through the noise. “New Hope, form up on me. Slingmen, get working. If we’ve archers down, get their bows and quivers and fire as you can. Longbows range them.”

            The retreating Scanrans halted short of the treeline but at least half their number were down on the field, and by the time they’d regrouped another half-dozen had fallen to slings and arrows.

            “Three flights and remount. Form line on me.”

            More Scanrans fell and a horse staggered sideways, collapsing; as other mounted men took evasive action they dissolved into disorder again. Kel could hear a voice shouting in Scanran but the Tortallan line had formed, a score of riders on either side of her, and she pumped her glaive, starting Alder into a walk. Before he’d advanced fifty yards Scanrans were spurring into the woods, and by the time she went from canter to charge those that remained were outnumbered. She killed the commander with a Yamani move he never saw coming, and then all were down, but so were half-a-dozen  of her men, and she cursed surveying the carnage around her and across the fields.

            When the all-clear was sounded and healers arrived the tally was grim. Eleven soldiers were dead, and four civilians, including to Kel’s piercing sorrow Peliwin Archer, neck torn open by an arrow. Temon told her the civilian hit south of the fin had also died, the great vein of his leg cut through, and two soldiers and a civilian would be permanently disabled, with another score who would heal. It was everyone’s most serious fight for a year, and she knew they hadn’t been as sharp as they should have been, but there was never any real substitute for combat experience.

            The carts that came for the wounded carried back Alder’s barding, and Dom, guessing what state he’d be in, sent one of Olleric’s men with Hoshi. Remounted, she watched him lead the exhausted gelding back towards New Hope, and as the field was cleared to leave only the Scanran dead saw avid-eyed stormwings perched all around in the trees, Barzha among them with Cloestra beside her, belly distended. Staring blankly Kel reckoned obligations and what Neal had said of Cloestra’s needs, then rode over, pulling off her bascinet with its aventail and feeling air stir her sweat-soaked hair.

            “Your Majesty.”

            “Protector.”

            Kel looked at Cloestra. “Was this meal enough, or do you need more with your labour imminent?”

            On a nearby branch Hebakh bated surprise but the females were still until Cloestra shrugged, breasts lifting over her belly.

            “I cannot say more is necessary, Protector, but it would be nice.”

            The thought of a pregnant stormwing playing with glaived corpses juddered in Kel’s mind. Her hands were busy detaching aventail from bascinet and looping it over her saddlehorn.

            “Alright. Carry away what you need, to anywhere outside the valley. Do as you must. I ask only that you pile for burning what you do not take, and when you are done add the rest to that pile. We’ll burn it tomorrow evening, after our funerals.” A thought twisted in Kel’s mind. “If you would attend, they’ll be at Haven at the first afternoon bell.”

            Barzha’s eyes narrowed and for the first time she gave Kel what had to be called a bow. “Yet another surprise, Protector. Before our confinement to the Divine Realms we would attend funerals as well as battlefields, distinguishing victims from aggressors. I give no commands in this, but Cloestra, Hebakh, and I will be there. For the rest, I agree, commending your wisdom and generosity.”

            Kel found herself too exhausted to reply and nodded wordlessly, raising a hand in farewell and replacing her bascinet before riding back to her waiting escort, Uinse’s squad, who’d come off duty at noon.

            “Trouble, Lady Kel?”

            She made an effort. “No, Uinse. They’ll take the Scanrans elsewhere to play and pile them for burning afterwards. Some will come to the funerals.”

            “They … you …” He sensibly cut his losses. “Very good, my lady.”

            Wondering murmurs continued among his men but Kel was too tired to care, and though there was apprehension next day as more than a score of stormwings circled high above the funeral wagons as they processed to Haven, she found herself distracted. With sixteen coffined bodies in four carts and everyone except duty watches they made a formidable column, soldiers armed against possible attack and riding flank, but they were hardly needed for the solitary, unarmoured horseman who saw them coming and pulled up, waiting until Kel, riding in the van, reached him. She had taken in his sober merchant appearance and decent but unspectacular horse, but as she came close enough to see his face her eyebrows rose and he spoke swiftly in a voice that could only have come from Corus and reassured all who heard it.

            “Ah, I’m sorry, my Lady—I see I’ve come at a bad time. My condolences. My name’s Arrohel, representing merchants in Corus who’ve heard the northern trade’s restarting.”

            So. “No blame to you, Master Arrohel. We didn’t know ourselves we’d be doing this until yesterday. I’ll be glad to see you after if you care to wait, or you’re welcome to join our ritual.”

            “I’m honoured to do so, my Lady.”

            He waited respectfully as laden carts creaked past him, falling in behind as they wound up the road to Haven. Stormwings glided in to land on the edge of the knoll, watching but saying nothing, and the ceremony followed the pattern established with the tauros victims, friends and comrades speaking of memories and loss. She spoke herself last, of Peliwin Archer, recalling her early misstep at Haven and suffering at the hands of one of Stenmun’s men as well as her courage in rebuilding a life. When she was done she looked at Barzha.

            “Is there aught you would say, Your Majesty, before I commend them to the Black God?”

            “Only that we are sorry for their loss, Protector. They did not seek the war that came to them, and we acknowledge their innocence. Their killers we have punished as we may.”

            What anyone would make of that Kel didn’t know but nodded before opening arms wide, naming the dead, and speaking words she’d used before. “They died in our service and I pray they shall find their deaths their grace, and the Black God’s mercy infinite.”

            “So mote it be.”

            There was anticipation in the response and chimes sounded directly with a wind that wasn’t blowing soughing through trees that weren’t there. The new Tirrsmonters started, as did Master Arrohel, but those standing near hushed questions and Kel kept to her tradition of leading back down from the knoll in silence. Many people were in working clothes and headed back to the fields, squads accompanying, but with the children and many adults going back to New Hope accompanied by the off-duty soldiers Kel had no chance to speak to the merchant privately before she could usher him into her office and close the door.

            He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Does the Black God respond to every funeral here, Lady Keladry? Or Lady Kel, is it?”

            “Every one so far, my Lord. May I ask what you’re doing here?”

            Baron George Cooper smiled slightly. “It’s not wise for me to travel alone under my own name. And I learn more this way.” The smile faded. “As to what I’m doing, well, it was about time I saw this marvel you’ve created, but I’m afraid I’ve a personal reason. Do you know my daughter Alianne? Aly?”

            “I’m afraid I’ve never met her. She’s, what, seventeen?”

            “She will be this year, but she’s missing.”

            “Missing? Gods, I’m sorry to hear it. What happened?”

            “She was sailing down to Legann early last month but never arrived. It could be pirates, or shipwreck, but I can’t be sure. You’ve heard nothing of a girl on her own arriving anywhere north?”

            “I’m afraid not. You think she might have … run away?”

            “I don’t know what to think. She was at odds with both of us, a little, because she wanted to become a spy and we weren’t so keen.”

            Kel could imagine, but as Baron Cooper was clearly the Whisper Man, as Neal averred, she supposed his daughter’s ambition made sense. “Does Alanna know?”

            He shook his head gloomily. “No. I’ve kept it from the lass so far—she’d only make herself sick worrying. But she’ll find out soon enough.” What happened then would be a Lioness explosion of epic proportions and Kel winced. He nodded. “Exactly. She’ll not be happy with me, but there it is. I can’t spread word too widely—if someone’s holding Aly they might not realise who she is, and I don’t want to inform them—but I’d be glad if you’d keep eyes and ears open. Lord Wyldon will be doing so too.”

            “Of course.”

            “Thank you. The problem’s partly that without Daine information from the north is limited, so I thought I’d better check myself. And Aly _could_ have headed for the war. She wanted to do something.”

            “I see.” And while the thought of heading for a war without a clear destination boggled her, Kel did, in a way: being the daughter of the Lioness and _not_ wanting to be a knight could not have made for an easy transition to adulthood. But there was nothing she could say. “May I ask, my Lord, do you know how Daine is?”

            “Large, unless she’s had the babe by now, but well, last I heard. She has problems with the baby changing inside her, I believe.”

            “She does, but I’m glad to know she’s well. I’ve had no news of her since I left Corus in February, though I did feel reassurance when I prayed to the Green Lady.” A thought struck her. “Forgive me, my Lord, but have you prayed to ask where Aly is?”

            He nodded wearily. “I have, to my own patron god and Alanna’s Goddess, but they don’t seem to be listening. The King and Numair have scried, but it’s as if she’s vanished into thin air.”

            “Oh. May I ask which god is your patron?”

            “The Crooked God, as befits a former thief and serving spymaster. But he’s as crooked as his name and we’ve not had dealings in a while.”

            Kel blinked. The Crooked God was the chief trickster. “I don’t know him at all, I’m afraid, and we’ve no shrine to him, but there is one to Lord Sakuyo, and to the Goddess, who’ve been listening pretty closely to us. It might be worth trying.”

            “Huh, it’s an idea, thank you. But I ought to maintain my cover—could you show me what you’re trading here and take the shrines in?”

            “Of course. You know we’re trading through Master Orman? And setting up a Craftsbeings’ Guild?” Kel had sent papers to Turomot a month before.

            “Oh yes. I get word from Orman and some of his men, including Barin. I saw the stoneware you sent the Prince and Princess. Beautiful. And those papers you lodged have caused much fluttering.” He grinned. “You’ll have fun trying to join the League of Guilds, I fancy, but they had no grounds to object and the King was admiring. You’ll get approval soon.”

            “Well, that’ll be welcome. What sort of goods are you, um, supposed to be interested in?”

            “I think I’m just scouting, but you might get some real scouts, you know. That deal you’ve struck with Orman and Imrah has men who used to run the northern trade gnashing.”

            “Has it? I’ve no sympathy—they dropped it the second war started. And the point’s not to make money for merchants but to make New Hope self-supporting. Master Orman appreciated that.”

            The Baron’s look was keen. “I can believe that. He’s a good sort and knows when to profit and when to be generous.”

            She took him to the smithy and woodshops, and showed him the way they used webbing as well as the helmet mesh. His cover story was note-perfect, and audible comments about tight-fisted merchants and the fuss over the proposed Guild gave amused satisfaction. Then it was reasonable to detour to the shrines on the way to see cut limestone blocks piled up by the last barracks, but as they passed the playground Irnai stood from a group surrounding Amiir’aan and walked over, face serious. Silently she pulled Kel’s sleeve and Kel squatted, resting a hand on her shoulder as the Baron quirked eyebrows.

            Irnai’s voice was a murmur. “Lady Kel, is that the Whisper Man?”

            Kel’s own eyebrows jerked up—she hadn’t known Irnai even knew that name and to identify him was ridiculous unless …. She nodded to Irnai and gestured the Baron to squat with them.

            “If I’m not mistaken, my Lord, Irnai has something for the Whisper Man from Shakith.”

            “She does?” He hunkered down. “And what would that be?”

            Irnai regarded him gravely. “She came to me just now and said I should tell the Whisper Man with Lady Kel _not_ to pray to the Goddess here about his daughter, and to remember the Kyprish Prophecy.”

            The Baron’s face went still. “The _Kyprish_ Prophecy … Curse him, I’ll have his ears.”

            Kel blinked. “Whose ears?”

            “Kyprioth’s, if he’s mixed up in this. That’s the _raka_ name for the Crooked God. He was the great god of the Copper Isles before the Rittevon conquest. The Kyprish Prophecy says he will be again when the _raka_ queens are restored. Which isn’t unlikely the way Oron carries on.”

            Planning to take a god’s ears seemed unwise to Kel but she didn’t understand any of this. “What have the Copper Isles to do with it?”

            “Who knows? But I think Aly’s there. Gods, yes. If she was picked up at sea—and there _was_ a raid about then, down the coast—they’d have her in Rajmuat in a few days. It would explain why I’ve heard nothing.” He looked at Irnai. “Why the Goddess mustn’t know I can’t imagine but I’ll not argue, though my lass might. Will you thank Shakith for me?”

            “She has gone now but I will tell her when she next speaks to me.”

            “Thank you, Irnai. Please don’t tell anyone about this.” Gravely he offered a hand and she took it, smiling shyly.

            “I only did as the god said and I don’t talk about her unless I am supposed to. I must go back to Amiir’aan—he is telling of animal gods.”

            She skipped away, carefree, and the adults straightened.

            “Interesting children you have here, Lady Kel. I know from the King about Irnai’s prophecy and being guided by Shakith in Scanra, but not that she still received private messages.”

            There was a questioning note in his voice, and Kel nodded firmly. “She does seem to, my Lord. And to think of Shakith as, well, a friend, I suppose. Just one who’s a god.”

            He shook his head, smiling. “Convenient. And I’m grateful. I’d have started looking overseas next but that’s a lot of places to look. Rajmuat. Huh. I wonder what’s going on there. Still, show me the shrines, and this cut stone and your caves. I’ll stay tonight—it’d look odd, otherwise—but I’ll be gone before dawn. I’ve a daughter to find.”


	15. Bereavement

**Chapter Fifteen — Bereavement**

_May–June_

 

As May wore on Kel considered the report due at the calend and thought the picture mixed. The deaths had shaken everyone and with the soldiers killed by tauroses Brodhelm was down a full squad; they also made everyone put more effort into training, especially Tirrsmonters, and with Dom’s extra sessions most were now able to send arrows or stones in something like the intended direction. Reconditioned arms from Tirrsmont had found good homes and on paper boosted their defense, but if any significant number of civilians were engaged in close combat she’d already have failed, strategically and in her duty. Progress with the tunnel was steady and plans for the corral taking shape, but larger numbers of people in more fields meant strengthening guard squads and reducing patrols. Merric wasn’t happy and neither was Kel, especially with information received from Vanget and Wyldon sharply down in Daine’s absence despite new pickets along the Vassa.

            There were other matters to include. Cloestra had successfully laid her egg, in a tent beside the infirmary—a process that had the stormwing screeching obscenities some of which made even the admiring soldiers who listened blench, and required healing from Neal, leaving him as much as the new mother a sweat-soaked but triumphant mess. There was also a scatter of moulted steel feathers that Kel had boiled clean and sent to the fletchers. Barzha said it was a good laying and her remark that now they’d have to see if the egg would hatch led to a surprising discussion. The problem, apparently, was that a steel eggshell made for problems with heatloss, whatever it rested on; fully a third of eggs did not hatch. Kel’s answer was a wooden block with a shallow depression for Cloestra to sit in and a deeper, egg-shaped bowl carved out of its middle; once installed at the junction of terrace and eastern shelf, under an overhang, and petrified, basilisks could heat the stone. Amiir’aan had happily taken the duty of rewarming it whenever Cloestra thought necessary as well as guarding the egg when she flew for exercise, and as the stormwing was reasonably clean others among the children, increasingly curious rather than frightened, had begun to talk to her. Adults were less thrilled, and unhappier still when members of the Stone Tree Nation came to visit, but all resident immortals were deeply amused, and Barzha’s and Cloestra’s slightly stunned gratitude at Kel’s solution to a problem they’d faced for millennia was very satisfying.

            A letter from Master Orman arrived with the crates of jam she’d ordered, saying he was impressed with the stoneware, as were all who’d seen it, and as soon as the Craftsbeings’ Guild was chartered he’d take as much as they could produce. He would also buy helmet-mesh, webbing, and cut stone, commended Kel’s arrangement with Mindelan and Legann, and offered a combination of cash and barter that was more generous than she’d expected and had Idrius beaming. The trade would enable New Hope to buy almost all the extra food it needed, and bring in a few luxuries; it would also gain the immortals and those working with them ready money, from wood-turners and –carvers to older children who helped haul cartloads of webbing from Spidren Wood, and Kel had been fascinated one warm evening to find Idrius giving an impromptu tutorial on wealth to St’aara, Var’istaan, and Kuriaju.

            The courier also brought letters of thanks from Imrah and Shinko, the latter’s including news that Daine had given birth to a baby girl—or cub, foal, kit, and many other things, randomly from moment to moment so far as Shinko could tell. Neither Daine nor Numair had been able to persuade young Sarralyn to stay in one form and, if delighted, were exhausted to the point of stupidity; nursing, Shinko added delicately, was also made difficult by such varying mouths, giving Kel alarming visions. The child was to have a naming ceremony at Midsummer, at Trebond so Alanna, standing as godsmother, could attend, and Kel, Tobe, and Irnai were invited; it was hoped Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady would cross over for the day. Kel sent a letter of warm congratulations telling Daine and Numair about Cloestra’s egg, inventive cursing, and incubation, with accounts of Peachblossom and Alder’s help training Butter. She doubted she’d make it to Trebond for Midsummer; writing reminded her she would turn twenty a few days after, and she contemplated the fact with surprise. Her last two birthdays had passed unmarked amid combat, and she wondered what might happen this year.

            To Wyldon she sent news of Alder’s barding. The arrow she’d heard during the fight had skidded off his crupper, scoring one of the scales, so utility was proven but he’d been as chagrined as a horse could be at how much it had slowed and tired him, and was training hard. With help from the ostlers Tobe fitted him each morning with barding, and while Kel did paperwork he went down the roadway, cantered from moatbridge to limestone bridge and back, and reascended, over and over. Guards were timing him and his speed was increasing steadily; so was endurance.

            Two days before the calend two developments occurred, one warmly welcome, the other anything but. Late in the morning a mixed group of immortals came hesitantly up valley from the Vassa Road—four adult basilisks with a youngling, a score of ogres, and as many spidrens. After study from the lookout post Kel sent for Var’istaan and Kuriaju, and readied an escort. The early warning meant she was able to collect Quenuresh and they met the newcomers a mile north of Spidren Wood.

            There was considerable wariness but with the resident immortals to offer reassurances in both directions all proved well. The basilisks were two males, Laar’aan and Spiir’aan, and a mated pair, Mnaa and Histu’aan, with their daughter Bel’iira; the ogres were a family of farmers led by Samiaju; the spidrens a mixed group led by an older, larger male, Aldoven, nothing like Quenuresh’s size, who treated her with extreme respect. All had come west from lands around the City of the Gods, where fighting had intensified in April before settling back into the siege that had been going on for two full years.

            As Kel spoke with them she became increasingly elated. The basilisks had heard of stonework being done at New Hope and wanted to participate—which besides strengthening trade meant an extra shift on the tunnel, presently limited by Var’istaan’s and St’aara’s magical endurance, and if Kel had her way a start on steps up the fin. The ogres were equally welcome, wanting a protective community and to practice terrace farming on slopes too steep to plough; Kel’s only worry was vulnerability to attack from the treeline, especially with guard squads stretched to cover them, but Samiaju was untroubled.

            “We know the war continues, Protector, and New Hope is a target, but to have guards and a stronghold to sleep in are great improvements. And when we have a slope to terrace Aldoven has offered to block access from the treeline with webbing in return for crops.”

            Aldoven nodded. “An armed mortal could cut through, but it will impede and give warning.”

            Kel looked at Quenuresh. “Could that be done elsewhere?”

            The spidren mage hissed. “The whole valley, Protector? No. There is too much and we are talking of heavy webbing rising five feet or more that will need renewing every year.”

            “Just treelines closest to fields we’re working, then?”

            “Maybe.” She laughed. “You will have sore spinnerets, Aldoven. And you are going to owe me a great deal of cheese, Protector.”

            “We’ll trade for more if we have to. Or add meat, if you like. But I can’t ignore anything that might give people a chance to get to safety.”

            “I understand. Aldoven and I must talk of what is and is not allowed here, but if all is well shall I show them to the eastern valley?”

            “Please, though it will have to be confirmed by the King. And be aware, Aldoven, trappers use that valley, and it’s possible Scanrans will come through.”

            “Trappers we can live with, Protector, even trade with—we trap ourselves and do not wear fur. And if Scanrans pass the markers we set around the designated land they will wish they had not.”

            Any line of defence blocking routes raiders could use was music to Kel’s ears, and after asking Aldoven to come for a treaty swearing next day she watched Quenuresh leading him and his party off with a sense of amazement. Who would have dreamed it a year before? The afternoon was spent introducing basilisks and ogres, settling them into Immortals’ Row, where more chambers were begun, and debating with Samiaju and Adner which slopes might be terraced and which reserved for hay. As it happened Adner had experience of terrace farming and the technical discussion was interesting, but in late afternoon Kel was called to the gate by Brodhelm to find she had indeed heard right and the people asking admission were Sir Voelden, the thin-faced captain, Rogal, and one remaining member of his command, a burly man called Emerint who seemed simple.

            “Are you serious, Sir Voelden? You ask admission as refugees?”

            “What choice do I have, Lady Knight?” The title was ground out and Kel noted the absence of any ‘commander’. “Tirrsmont is gone. We have no food and nowhere else to go.”

            He had lost weight, and all their faces were lean. Kel had to admit he had a case of sorts but was viscerally reluctant to have him at New Hope and her rationalisations didn’t have to be forced.

            “But why come _here_ , of all places? Go south—find work there.”

            “I am not welcome in Corus.”

            “You must realise you will be unwelcome to your former liegefolk here, and I can offer you no accommodation but refugee barracks.”

            “Barracks?”

            “Yes. Or the caves. With three companies and four knights all else is taken, and I’m not turfing anyone out on your behalves.”

            “So be it. And we will serve to fight Scanrans.”

            “Everyone fights Scanrans here, even children. I doubt you’re proposing to enlist.”

            “Call it what you will, Lady Knight. We will fight. Isn’t that enough?”

            “That depends who you’re fighting and how. People here are soldiers or work as needed and fight in drilled and organised ways—we can’t afford to do otherwise when the alarm sounds. And you have not yet acknowledged that I command here.”

            “I used your title.”

            “But not her rank, Sir Voelden.” Brodhelm’s face was impassive. “Lady Keladry is the third-ranking officer of this district, after my Lords of Cavall and Goldenlake. The term Protector is used by immortals and recognised by His Majesty.”

            Voelden grimaced; Rogal looked as if he’d eaten something rotten.

            “Very well. Commander. Are you going to _protect_ us as we ask?”

            Kel felt trapped. “We’ll see. The first test is for you to stand under the Honesty Gate, state your names, and declare you mean no harm of any kind to any being at New Hope.”

            Emerint passed easily, Rogal with clipped words. Voelden looked at her.

            “I cannot say I wish _you_ no harm, Commander. I’d gladly see you dead and you know it. But I have no intention of harming you myself, and mean no harm to any man here.”

            “There are women, children, basilisks, ogres, and spidrens also.”

            “I mean no harm to any living thing here, then.”

            “Very well. I also require your oaths that you will obey standing orders and any given you by a knight, officer, or member of the Council, and that you will conduct yourself soberly with respect for all. By giving them you place yourselves under army jurisdiction, and the only appeal from my judgement is to my Lord of Cavall and General Vanget. And let me be frank. Under that jurisdiction your attempt to run me through tilting, Sir Voelden, would be punishable by death. And your conduct the last time you were here, like that of Rogal, would attract punishment—confinement on bread and water, probably. Your habitual ways of referring to women and those you despise would earn extended latrine duty. I am sworn not to abuse my authority, but neither will I hesitate to use it if necessary, and you are supplicants here.”

            Emerint was again untroubled, though he had to be prompted with the necessary words, while Rogal and Voelden looked sour but did swear. Kel had Brodhelm, Mikal, Uinse, and Merric as witnesses, and after delegating to Uinse the task of finding places in a barracks or the cave and giving basic orientation, she asked the others to make formal depositions as witnesses. Merric raised his eyebrows.

            “You expect trouble from them, Kel?”

            “I don’t know, Merric. Emerint might be alright—he’ll do well enough by anyone who looks after him. But I don’t trust Voelden or Rogal as far as I can throw them, and yes, I expect trouble with one or both.” She tried to think it through. “Suppose I do wind up with Voelden on a charge—what’s the standing of a knight who was a noble until six weeks ago? And can he extend noble protection to Rogal? The whole thing’s ambiguous but oaths, witnessed by all of you, make clear my authority to judge them for any infraction of direct or standing orders.”

            He whistled. “I see. Still, you couldn’t turn them away.”

            “I wanted to.”

            “It’ll be alright, Kel—we’ll watch them like hawks.”

            And everyone did, for a few days. The Tirrsmonters were especially unhappy, though Kel was half-amused to see Lasner’s ostentatious coldness to his former master’s son, and no-one wanted the three in _their_ barracks so they wound up in small cave-spaces between loom- and look-out chambers. As she’d suspected Emerint proved tractable and took a liking to Uinse, so she attached him to Company One as a volunteer. Sir Voelden was a misfit in every sense but had fighting skills and was of use to Companies Eight and Fourteen as a sparring partner; he was willing to patrol and at Merric’s urging Kel let him. Rogal proved the problem, unable to adjust to not being in authority and openly scornful of her refusal to grant him any. He was a decent archer, however, and a combination of leading practice and being given duty on the eastern alure seemed to mollify him. When Wyldon received her report he was onto the spellmirror in a hurry, incredulous that Sir Voelden had claimed refuge and she’d granted it. He listened as she ran through her thinking, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

            “Mithros, what a mess. I agree you couldn’t turn them away but it’s absurd for Sir Voelden to say he’s not welcome in Corus—he means not welcome at the Palace.”

            “I thought he was probably avoiding unpaid bills. Is he liable for his father’s debts?”

            He frowned. “Probably not—he inherits nothing but may have debts of his own, of course. Do you know when he came north?”

            “With Ettenor. He stayed at Tirrsmont when the civilians left. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

            “No, but there’s no reason I should. I thought he’d have stayed with his father until …”

            “Has it happened?”

            “Yes. Last week. Does he know?”

            “Perhaps not. I don’t know where he’d get news. That means I ought to tell him.” Kel couldn’t imagine a less welcome duty and turned the subject. “But he shouldn’t distract us from good news, Wyldon. I have _spidrens_ guarding the eastern approach, the tunnel’s advancing at double rate, _and_ I’ve started Spiir’aan and Histu’aan on steps up the fin. Plus there’s an additional field ready for planting—those ogres work _hard_ —and we should be able to pay for all the extra food we need.”

            “Yes, immortals coming in _is_ good news, and your progress sounds excellent, as do the finances—the King will be pleased. I don’t believe there’s ever been a self-supporting refugee camp, Keladry—it’s a tremendous achievement. I’m concerned about more land going to spidrens, though, even if presently unclaimed. It’ll be hard to undo such a grant after the war, if we needed to.”

            Kel shrugged. “Why should we? That valley’s uninhabited except for itinerant trappers and Aldoven promised to respect them. If spidrens are coming in they have to go _somewhere_. And the King gave me full powers to deal with immortals. I’ve sent him notification directly.”

            “He did? I didn’t know that.”

            “I wasn’t going to shout it but yes, after we met the elemental.”

            “Ah. May I ask on what terms?”

            “ _In respect of immortals under treaty at New Hope, or others who come there. If there is no time to ask but you need my authority, you have it, without fear of traducement. I will not forget._ I had to make a decision, but I’ve made it clear it’s subject to His Majesty’s approval, and sought it.”

            “Then that’s fine. And you’re right they have to go somewhere.” He rubbed his forehead again. “I’m getting too old for this, Keladry.”

            “Nonsense. You coped with me—what’s a spidren or twenty?”

            The look he gave her made her laugh aloud.

 

* * * * *

 

Forthrightness was the only option. “Sir Voelden, I am sorry to refer to this, and for any pain it causes, but it is my duty to make sure you are aware the sentence on your father has been carried out.” She hesitated, but even if she hadn’t the least idea how she felt about this bizarre situation she could speak truth. “It would seem hypocritical to tell you I’m sorry, but I would wish such news on no-one. Is there anything you need? The Black God’s shrine is available to all and I have communication with Mastiff and Northwatch. They could mage-relay a message south.”

            His blank face twisted. “No. Thank you.” His voice grated. “You have done your duty.” He half-turned but swung back, hesitating. “That didn’t sound as I meant it. I … I cannot like you, but I cannot deny I see you doing duty to the realm. Doing it well.” He turned again.

            “Please wait. That is … interesting.” It might not be wise but she had to know. “Will you tell me, between us alone and on my word without penalty—was that lance strike an accident?”

            The blankness and twist repeated. “No. I apologise for it. I would kill you in a fair fight without compunction, but I am ashamed I did that on the field of honour. I am not … I was not without it. Once.”

            “Nor are you now, or I wouldn’t have accepted your oath. Honour isn’t like innocence, lost with knowledge. Nor like nobility or any rank. It’s just how you behave every day and can be counted on to behave. And I accept your apology. If you know, will you tell me why I made you forget your honour in that moment? I was _fifteen_.”

            He met her gaze. “At the time I’d have said I recovered honour from your smirching of it. The truth is I had debts.”

            “And Joren paid them.”

            He swallowed. “You know about that?”

            “The elemental of the Chamber said he paid at least one knight to try to kill me.”

            “The _elemental_ … It wasn’t … I did not understand it as that at the time.” His voice dropped. “I am not denying my responsibility but Joren was … he made it seem …”

            “I know. He was smooth. Last question. Did Stone Mountain know what Joren was doing? I’m guessing we’re talking about sizeable sums, but perhaps he had that much himself as a squire.”

            “Why do you care?”

            “Stone Mountain apologised to me when I asked the elemental on his behalf why it killed Joren. I have difficulty knowing if he was sincere and, frankly, if he is wholly rational in his grief. We both now sit on the King’s Council. And I have survived two assassination attempts this year, one seemingly commissioned by Sir Guisant and one by King Maggur. If Stone Mountain knowingly paid for attempts on my life in the past …”

            He had been in Corus for one and had to have heard about the other, and nodded slowly. “I agree Lord Burchard has not been himself since Joren’s death, but if he apologised to you, he meant it. And Joren … if he needed more money than he had he would have asked Genlith, not his father. Whether he did so I cannot say.”

            “Thank you. Let me say also that while there are many reasons I cannot yet grant you more authority than patrol second, I recognise your skills and knowledge. If you have any suggestion for defence or organisation, anything to strengthen us, I will listen. I believe we will face a major attack before the war ends, and if we are agreed New Hope _must_ not fall, that _nothing_ is more important, we should be fine.”           

            “I have no love for Scanrans.”

            “I don’t care who it is, I just don’t like people attacking my people. And I will do anything to defend them.”

            “I realise that. I doubt your defences can be improved.” He gave her a strange look. “That was one thing that made me think about what you have done here.”

            “What else?” Kel was curious.

            “My father.” He waved a hand. “A thousand people who swear by you. Other things. Lasner’s a weathercock but that spidren and those basilisks and ogres aren’t, and I know what holding the respect of soldiers requires, besides money to pay them. I find I cannot … begrudge you command. Nor honestly blame you for what happened. I did not know my father had dipped so deep.”

            That was to Kel less in Voelden’s favour than he seemed to suppose but they parted on better terms and she had no time to worry further about him or Rogal for in the first week of June the building team arrived with laden wagons. She showed a cheerful Geraint developments, and while the presence of Cloestra and size of Immortals Row shocked him he was appreciative of work in the caves, especially the lookout post. The rapidly deepening tunnel through the fin was also an amazement, and Kel explained about the central chamber, which she hoped to reach in time for the building team to help bridging it. Then she convened a meeting and invited Dom to present his plans for the corral.

            After reading Orchan and discussing how she’d structured the main defences, he’d worked hard to have things ready. With the practice sessions it had restored his sense of purpose and Kel had mutely rejoiced, though his sense of diminution at being unable to take the field remained evident and he was as bitterly private about his injury as she had been about the Hag’s healing. Other than Neal as a healer he’d allowed no-one to see his leg, bluntly refusing offers of help until they dried up, and it twisted her heart to watch him ineffectively try to adjust or scratch under his brace through cloth. His physical presence had returned him vividly to her fantasies, but lack of knowledge and consequent imaginations of his injury, to which she might somehow minister, hands soothing his flesh, were as dominant as more familiar conjurations of what his hands might do to her own. Shaking away an image as indecent as it was arousing she concentrated on his words.

            “Starting from the outside, the first thing is a moat, ten feet deep and fifteen wide, with petrified spoil piled as vertically as possible on the outer side, providing a drop and glacis. I haven’t seen what’s under the water in the main moat but I gather serious spikes are in order, and there should be an abatis angled _down_ from the base of the wall, with upper surfaces as sharp _and_ slippery-smooth as possible.”

            Geraint glanced up. “Oh, very nasty. I like it, captain.”

            Kel saw Dom blink at the rank, but she hadn’t been joking about the captaincy of the corral. It wasn’t going to be a sergeant’s command.

            “Ah, thank you, Master Geraint. Now, to fill and drain the moat we’ll need soughs connecting to the Greenwoods. We’ve surveyed, and for the inflow there are natural slopes we can exploit, here and here.” He pointed on the map Kel had brought from her office. “The outflow’s trickier and the sough will have to deepen to overcome the rise here. We may need to bridge it for the trail round the fin. But we can do something good with the gateway. We must balance defence and ability to sally, and the best answer I can think of is to extend the moat to the fin and have a drawbridge. I’m no hand with a pen but I’ve done a plan.”

            He passed it to Geraint. Kel had seen it but others stood to cluster round and peer over Geraint’s shoulders. Mikal’s finger traced the plan.

            “So if you sallied you’d come across the bridge to fan left, and attackers would have no clear shots at the gate because the raised drawbridge would shield it?”

            “That’s right. The sill of the gate might have to be ramped up a bit, but that’s no problem”

            “Mmm.” Geraint looked thoughtful. “How do you want to raise the drawbridge? Gaffs and rainures?”

            “I’d rather use angle chains and counterweights.”

            “You’ll need a big counterweight. What is there we could use?”

            “How about a portcullis? Or cut rock from the fin.”

            “Portcullis _as_ counterweight? Oh that’s a fine thought, though we’d need some rock too, I think.”

            “Once it’s in position it could be petrified for maximum weight.”

            “Of course it could. It’ll mean a more massive gatehouse structure than you’ve allowed, and your smiths will have to make chains—we’ve nothing the right size though we have iron to use. Not enough, though.”

            Kel sat forward. “We have rusty mail that can be melted down.”

            “Right. What’s this structure inside the gate? A killing field?”

            “Yes. An extension of the barbican. An L-shaped wall with an alure, accessible from the main wall, and a single gateway as a choke-point in case anyone does get in—pursuing after a sally, say.”

            “It’ll be an interesting job but ought to be possible.”

            “Good.” They reseated themselves. “Now the wall itself is nice and high—about twenty-five feet, with a few dips—but not as steep as I’d like on the outside. From what I understand making it sheer probably isn’t possible without Master Numair or other high-level mages, but it needs to be faced with petrified mud so it’s smooth, and the stone we move to shape the alure could create a vertical rise at the top below a crenellated parapet. Even an overhang. And I’d like a wide alure—without the height of New Hope range will depend on draw, or sling length and speed, and both will be better if people can take a good stance.”

            “Right you are, captain.” Geraint was pleased. “The number of people who don’t see that is astonishing. I’ve spent time arguing for wider alures but they take more material. With a stone wall already present that’s not a problem. What sort of access d’you want? The same staircases as the main alures?”

            Dom flushed. “Um, not really. My leg makes stairs hard and Lady Kel was kind enough to suggest ramps. But if that’s a problem …”

            To Kel’s relief Geraint was briskly practical. “Not at all. Easier, actually, if you mean traverse ramps.”

            “Yes. I did a sketch.”

            He passed it over and Geraint’s eyes lit up. “Perrons! Splendid. I haven’t done any of those for a while.”

            Kel could see others as puzzled as she. “Perrons?”

            “Oh, sorry. Balcony landings, usually with a single-flight staircase on either side, but here with ramps.” He held up Dom’s sketch, showing four pairs of ramps rising to meet at the alure and form triangles with the ground. “Properly the perron is just the landing, here projecting from the alure, but the whole structure’s also called a perron.”

            “And it’s no problem?” Dom’s voice was flat but Kel could hear how much it meant to him.

            “No, provided the basilisks can unstick and restick bonded scree as they did before.”

            Kel nodded. “They can, and we’ve six adults now, not two. St’aara’s running the schoolhouse, and I want shifts on the tunnel to continue so we can reach that chamber, but the stairway up the fin can wait so you can have three adults. And Amiir’aan and Bel’iira can help with facing.”

            “What about internal structures?”

            “Dom?”

            “It depends where the tunnel comes out, and I’ve been thinking about that. If that crack in the fin runs as straight beyond the central chamber as it does this side—which the spidrens say it seems to—then when the tunnellers hit limestone again they’ll be deep in the cliff and need to go sideways. It won’t be Master Geraint’s job but there’s no reason that extra bit of tunnel need be straight—it’ll be in limestone, so from what Var’istaan and Petrin tell me it should be easy to put in corners and defensive positions. Go in a square, say, and when they hit the fin again go straight, which means the tunnel will come out right in the angle of fin and cliffs.”

            Brodhelm nodded vigorously. “Good thinking, Dom—the more defences there are in the tunnel the happier I’ll be. Your walls and moat are good, and the drawbridge excellent, but I can’t help thinking of the tunnel as a back door. No offence.”

            “None taken—I feel that way myself. But the thing is it means we can be sure where the tunnel will come out. The other consideration is keeping space for the horses, including centaurs’ herds in winter, so I thought buildings should be along cliffs and fin.” He produced another plan. “A large stableblock along the limestone, stepped to hug it, and the farrier’s shop, barracks, and secondary headquarters along the fin.”

             “That’s straightforward and the stable will be interesting.”

            Seaver frowned. “Why one big one, Dom? Won’t it make a bottleneck for getting horses out? When you want to sally, I mean.”

            “It could, but a double door would take care of that. The main reason is heat in winter—harder to _get_ a big space warm but easier to _keep_ it warm. I’ve talked to people about this last winter, especially keeping the stables warm when everyone retreated to the caves, and I think it’d be best to minimise the problem. That’s why I’ve marked the stable for double walls, stone and timber, and I thought if the spidrens can set webbing below the roof that we fill with a layer of hay the horses’ bodyheat should be retained.”

            “Oh that’s excellent, Dom.” Merric bounced in his seat. “That would help in the stables here. We should have thought of it when we were dreaming up those helmets, Brodhelm—Quenuresh was right here and for hay you’d only need wide mesh. What is it, Kel?”

            “Just thinking of the cheese bill. But you’re right—it is good thinking. All these plans are—thank you, Dom.” Absurdly and endearingly he flushed and her heart hammered. “Geraint, can you—we—do all that?”

            “We can, Lady Kel, but we’ll need workforce. My lads will be best used on internal structures, and with basilisk help on wall and gatehouse. Digging the moat is brute labour.”

            “I anticipated that. We have more than four hundred adult refugees now, as well as the mining ogres and any off-duty soldiers who are willing to put in time. Adner’s never happy losing anyone from fieldwork but ploughing and planting are pretty much complete, and I want this done as rapidly as possible, so you’ll have three hundred plus pairs of hands—enough to start multiple sections at once.”

            He whistled. “That’ll do it.”

            “I hope so. Now there’s also safety, and we have to have guards out for people north of the fin, but it’s easier with so many in one place and you’ll have a duty company as protection. We have a number of horn calls worked out, depending on where a threat comes from, and I want your people drilled in those. If one does sound, _everyone_ except the duty company gets into the corral fast.”

            “Of course. It’s too late to start today, but maybe you could do the drill this evening? Then we can get stuck in first thing tomorrow.”

            Dinner was enlivened by demonstrated horncalls and the reaction of the building team to the glowing warmth of the pillars and rich carvings. The refugees were glad to see New Hope’s builders and there was merriment, but work started shortly after dawn, with nine teams of thirty and most of the mining ogres so progress was swift.

            Geraint and Kel co-ordinated who was doing what. The older children began the inlet sough, a foot square, along a route surveyors pegged, and Amiir’aan and Bel’iira—the latter delighted to be called on—alternated between petrifying completed sections, which prevented collapse while giving the children a clear sense of achievement, and mud smoothed onto the wall. The basilisks worked with Geraint’s men and every mage able to hold loose stone in place to transform the allering from a rough mound to a very different profile, with the overhang Dom wanted blending into eight feet of crenellated parapet and a ten-foot alure. When a quarter was done, nearest the limestone, the first ramps and perron were sculpted on the inner face and Geraint grew thoughtful.

            “I think people can climb those faster than the switchback staircases on the New Hope alures. You can take them at a run without having to slow or reverse. I know you were thinking of Captain Domitan’s leg, Lady Kel, but I think ramps should become a standard design.”

            “I like them, too, Geraint. And please tell Dom—he thought I was wrongly … catering to his injury.”

            “I will. You don’t mind people coming to see them? If I submit the report I’m thinking of there are people who’ll want to.”

            “Recommend away. We’ve been visited by the Crown Prince and Princess and two gods. I’m hoping for an eighty-five foot dragon, too, so people wanting to see ramps is no problem.” She grinned at his expression. “In return, perhaps you could emphasise the co-operation of _all_ our immortals? We couldn’t do half of this without them.”

            “I’ll happily do that.” He looked at her. “Have you had problems?”

            “Some. The Tirrsmonters had been told absurd lies, and one of them induced a boy to throw a stone at Amiir’aan. It cut his head—and might have been worse.”

            “Amiir’aan? But he’s sweet.”

            “According to this man he’s a monster with no place among mortals.”

            “Gods, what a fool. What happened to him?”

            “He and his friends are at Northwatch. General Vanget thought some army service with his lads could be … educational.”

            “Heh. I bet. And I’ll gladly spread that word, Lady Kel—the basilisks are changing what’s possible architecturally. Fortifications aside, when this war’s done I’d like to partner with one, and a mage, to build houses—you could do something _really_ spectacular.”

            Kel laughed. “So you could. Tell Idrius. We’re establishing a Craftsbeings’ Guild to trade in petrified ware and webbing. We could add architectural services.”

            “I will—and if you’re serious, that’s a deal, Lady Kel.”

            She offered him a hand, and they went back to work. Some of the building team had been preparing foundations, and as the inlet sough was completed, releasing children to continue facing alure, parapet, ramps, and inner wall with mud from the moat spoil, corner posts and then floors and walls started to appear. Camaraderie was high—the newcome Tirrsmonters had felt Kel’s tongue-lashing and their incompetence with weapons keenly, but they could dig as well as anyone. It was heavy, brutal work, but as soon as Kel realised the deepest two feet were taking as much time as the first eight, thanks to a layer of claggy soil, she told them to stop as soon as they hit it.

            “Pile spoil on the inner side as well and we’ll get nine feet of water. No-one will be wading across.”

            The decision cheered the diggers and progress accelerated, with spikes going into the completed sections which the basilisks took turns to petrify into razor-edged obsidian. The abatis began to go in, and after petrifying each spike the basilisks changed spell and honed upper edges until they would slice a hand rested on them, as several people discovered. Neal was hovering around Yuki, due any time, but after the third severe cut marched down to the corral and delivered a blistering lecture that won an admiring audience and ended the problem.

            A little more than a week in, with the moat substantially complete and the deeper outlet sough underway, Kel and Geraint were at the smithy watching links being added to the massive drawbridge chains and discussing the portcullis and drums needed to articulate the drawbridge when she was summoned.

            “General Vanget wants a word, Lady Kel, soon as you can.”

            Excusing herself Kel went to do so. Vanget was at his desk, but looked up as the spellmirror chimed and rose to approach it.

            “That was quick, Kel. Is the mage there?”

            She held up her Midwinter gift. “Master Numair managed to rig it so I can activate the mirror myself.”

            “Really? He never said that was possible.”

            “Well, he has been distracted, Vanget—more than usual, I mean. If you had a daughter who kept turning into a bear or owl I daresay you’d be distracted too.”

            He laughed. “Mithros, yes. But with the shortage of mages it matters that the un-Gifted can operate a mirror—even if it does take … what is that? A black opal?”

            “Yes.”

            “Expensive—but the Crown has plenty, thanks to Dunlath, so it makes smaller mirrors for patrols and the like practicable. I must tell Wyldon to ask him about it.” He made a note. “Incidentally, your griffins turned up a couple of days ago and scared everyone witless. I went rushing down, bowed, pointed to the gate, and they nodded, roared something that hurt my ears, and took off again.”

            Kel grinned. “They’re hardly my griffins, Vanget. And I bet no-one can tell lies under that gate any more.”

            “No they can’t. The lads have had fun trying. I’d have liked to give their featherheads something in return though.”

            Kel grinned again. “Good one. I doubt they want anything—proud creatures. But I’ll ask Quenuresh to pass on thanks.”

            “Please. Now, this commanders’ conference at the start of July?”

            “Wyldon mentioned it. At Mastiff.”

            “Not any longer. The attack on New Hope was the worst there’s been anywhere, and as of two days ago the Scanrans have withdrawn from Frasrlund.” Kel whistled. “Indeed. I’ve no idea what they’re up to but something’s going on. It's still stalemate at the City of the Gods, and some incursions east, but the western front is quiet. Trouble in Hamrkeng, I think. Maggur’s not left it, anyway. So the Lioness is going to Trebond for Midsummer, come what may, and Goldenlake too—says he needs to stretch after being cooped up all winter, and I can’t say I blame him. I also discover you and Wyldon are invited—are you going?”

            “I’d like to, but the building team’s here, for one thing, and I’m loath to go away for ten days or more with the new Tirrsmonters and immortals here. Not to mention Sir Voelden and Rogal.”

            “Mmm, I heard about that. Bizarre. Rogal is that captain of his?”

            “Yes. I trust him far less than Voelden, and while I don’t think for a minute he’d get anywhere I do think he might try something in my absence. I didn’t know Wyldon was invited to Trebond.”

            “He is, and minded to go if all stays quiet.” Vanget’s face went suspiciously bland. “Apparently the Wildmage’s father said Wyldon had very sensible opinions about breeding dogs and she took it as a hint.”

            Kel laughed. “That’s splendid. They _did_ talk about dogs. We’ll have the Wild Hunt breeding with Cavall’s wardogs if we’re not careful.”

            Vanget slapped his thigh. “Mithros, wouldn’t that be something? They’d be no escaping one of those, eh? Anyway, I’m relieved you’re not going—we can’t have every commander between here and Frasrlund taking off at the same time. Greendale will hold the fort at Mastiff, Whiteford at Steadfast, but you’ll be senior in the District and I’ve told them to refer to you in the first place. Call me if necessary.”

            Kel was speechless for a moment. “Are you sure, Vanget? They’re much older than me, and Flyndan was captain of the Second before I was even a squire.”

            “True. They’re good soldiers, but Greendale’s only been Wyldon’s second since last summer, and though Whiteford’s a fine captain you’ve already more experience as a commander. Between ourselves, I doubt he’ll go higher. He knows he hasn’t the temperament or vision to succeed Goldenlake, which you might well.”

            “Oh. And he doesn’t mind being under me?”

            “No—he was relieved, I think. In any case, as a commander you rank them and I wouldn’t go against the book without reason.”

            “You realise I’m nineteen?”

            He laughed. “I didn’t, actually, and I appreciate what you must be feeling, but it makes no odds. You’re a natural, Kel, Goldenlake trained you specifically as a commander, and since Wyldon thrust you into Haven we’ve all been scrambling to keep up. Oh yes we have—don’t doubt it. Now, with the Lioness, Goldenlake, and Wyldon coming back together from Trebond it makes no sense for you and me to slog over to Mastiff, so I’ve moved the conference to New Hope. The Lioness won’t get there until Midsummer Eve, and wants to stay a day or three, so look for us in the first days of July.”

            Kel swallowed. “Escorts and staff?”

            “Two squads each, and I’ll bring half-a-dozen staff. Problem? You must be pretty full by now.”

            “We are, especially with the building team here, but we can manage. There’s guest rooms, but soldiers and staff will have to use the barracks of the night-duty watch or the caves, as we did in winter.”

            “That’s fine. How’s the corral coming? And that tunnel?”

            She gave him a report, stressing the assistance of immortals and mentioning Geraint’s belief about ramps, bringing a frown of interest.

            “That’s worth pondering. If you didn’t have stone and basilisks would it take more timber than stairs, I wonder. Ask him to calculate that in his report, would you? I’ll look forward to reading it.”

            He bid a cheerful farewell, leaving her to contemplate achieving temporary district command—four major forts, counting New Hope, and twenty regular companies—before turning twenty. It was ridiculous. There was so much she was conscious of not knowing, and another indecent image of learning some of it squirmed into her head. That would not do, and there was a great deal to find out. Sighing, she activated the spellmirror to call Wyldon and with any luck have a chat with Sir Rannac or someone on his staff who could give her a detailed report on everything she’d soon be responsible for.

 

* * * * *

 

On the day after the ides district command passed to Kel, anti-climactically, and the tunnellers reached the central chamber. The crack was a little under two feet high and the tunnel was cut entirely into the rock below, leaving the crack’s sloping upper surface as its roof; for someone of Kel’s height it felt very odd to be passing through solid rock yet have a dark void stretching away on both sides. Small magelights had been installed at intervals but only made spaces darker and Kel found herself flicking glances as if some unimaginable thing might emerge from the blackness. Geraint and Brodhelm were shorter and didn’t seem to notice, but Geraint ran a hand along the wall, marvelling at basilisk cutting. The chamber, though, left them speechless as Kel crouched cautiously at the lip of the cut rock, her old fear of heights stirring.

            The ceiling was eroded and magelight illuminated an irregular dome stretching to the top of the crack where it continued on the far side. At her feet rock dropped precipitously in curving walls soon lost to sight; there were bumps and hollows but the surface looked smooth and glittered where light struck it, reminding Kel of what Kitten had said about fin rock containing crystals. Amid the darkness were streaks of white and Kel realised an irregular layer sloping through the fin had been exposed.

            “Water did this?” Her voice echoed.

            “Yes.” Geraint was positive. “Nothing else could produce such smooth circular walls. All your caves were made by water and when they flooded it must have come through the crack, found weakness here, and cut the rock like a pothole in a river bed.”

            “It must have taken centuries.” Brodhelm’s deep voice boomed.

            “Yes, but in bursts, when the system flooded. Snowmelt, probably. Just like with rivers—no erosion you can see most of the year, but come the spring floods and yards of ground can rip away.”

            “Huh.” It struck Kel society could change in the same way, seeming static for decades until some equivalent of a flood—like war—ripped away customs and limits, people and places. “Can you bridge it?”

            Geraint blew out a breath. “In theory. In practice I’m not sure how to start. Even for a simple beam we need the passage on the other side to work from, but we can’t get there without the bridge. Can I get past you to have a better look, Lady Kel?”

            “Of course.”

            Kel stood and turned sideways as Geraint shuffled forward. For a second they were pressed together, not as tightly as she imagined lovers must be, but she sensed his embarrassment as he was unable to avoid brushing her breasts. Once past her he crouched, staring across the void to the further crack.

            “It must be forty feet. That’s not a problem—I’ve done longer—but I’ve always had two sides to work with. I suppose we have to build something out from just this side, but I’m not at all happy about a cantilever like that. I’ll have to think about it.”

            Kel looked up. “Could you suspend planks from bolts driven into the ceiling? It’s only a few feet higher than the top of the crack.”

            Geraint glanced up. “That’s a thought. It’ll be dangerous work.”

            “Mmm. What we need is spidrens.”

            “ _Spidrens?_ ”

            “One could get across easily. Let’s talk to Var’istaan and Petrin.”

            They walked back and emerged into what had been the spidrens’ winter chamber, where basilisk and miner waited. Var’istaan had anticipated the problem and his whisper was amused.

            “You are wondering how to create enough tunnel on the other side to build a bridge, but it can be done. Master Geraint, what are the longest planks you have?”

            “Um, about thirty feet.”

            “Not enough. You must fell one of the pine trees and cut strong planks of fifty feet or more—enough to reach right across with at least ten feet still on this side that we can bolt and weight with stone blocks.”

            “Master Var’istaan, cantilevered planks that long won’t be strong enough to bear a being’s weight.”

            “They will after I have petrified them.”

            “Oh.”

            Kel had to stop herself laughing at Geraint’s expression. “Even so, Var’istaan, you’ll have to cross this plank to cut the far wall?”

            “That is so, Protector.”

            “And forgive me, but a basilisk must weigh a fair bit.”

            “Stone is strong.”

            “Yes, but I don’t want to lose any of you down that hole. I think we should have ceiling supports for those planks—rope or spidren webbing.”

            “As you wish, Protector. I admit St’aara will be happier.”

            And that was how it was done, with the help of two of Quenuresh’s daughters and three tremendous planks that the farming ogres carried down valley from the tree the building team’s sawyers had sliced with a huge two-man saw over a hastily dug pit. It took several days, and they had to widen the tunnel at the edge of the void to give room to work, but once Var’istaan and others were able to reach the far side and begin cutting things speeded up. Geraint had spent the wait experimenting with models, to the fascination of children, and after much fiddling came up with a design Kel instantly adored. It was, he said, a cross between beam and modified cantilever—a single petrified-timber span, as light as basilisks could manage, that extended across the void to a step cut in the far side but had a substantial length on this side cantilevered with denser stone, _and_ could be withdrawn. Instead of installing mageblasts a trough with a thick overhang was cut in the floor, smooth with magic and elbow grease, and a cunning mechanism of pulleys, ropes, and counterweights arranged so a last soldier retreating over the bridge—or a guard on its near side—could simply knock out a pin: counterweights would drop, pulling the span back. To re-extend it the counterweights would have to be raised by hand, after which it could be pushed out again. The final refinement, insisted on by Tobe, was a cloth cover over petrified-wood hoops to block the void for horses; mortal safety and comfort would be helped as well.

            It was a superb concept, solving the basic problem and avoiding the difficulty caused if they’d ever had to use the mageblasts. Kel had considered that but dismissed it as an unavoidable consequence of defensive function, and was delighted to be proven wrong. She sent Geraint pink with praise, despite his insistence it was only possible because of petrification and basilisks’ ability to vary stone they created, keeping it lighter than one would think such a structure must be.

            “You’re right, Geraint, and I shall heap praise on the basilisks and spidrens too. But it’s also only possible because you’ve thought about _how_ to work with what they can do. Every time we come up with a new application for our immortals, alone or in combination, people look at me as if I’ve grown a second head, but I’m left wondering why we weren’t thinking about it before. Tkaa’s been in Corus for a decade, and while I’m sure he’s a wonderful diplomat how you can spend that long with a being capable of working stone like butter and petrifying anything you ask it to, and _not_ think of using that capacity is beyond me. While St’aara and Var’istaan have been wandering round Tortall, not finding anywhere to settle safely or ways of integrating.”

            He scratched his head. “I suppose so, Lady Kel. I’ve never thought of it like that. But you’re right we’ve been set in our ways, and after the Immortals War everyone was wary. This war’s shaken a lot of things up.”

            “Even so, Geraint. The Immortals War was against Ozorne and some immortal allies he’d made. Plenty of immortals fought for us as well. Still, what matters is that it’s changing. And I must go—the patrol reports from Steadfast and Mastiff are due.”

            Other things were changing too. Early on Midsummer Eve Yuki went into labour, and whether it was natural or the Green Lady’s spiral her travail was shorter than Neal had expected and without complications. Kel was there for delivery, having her hands crushed and wondering if she’d ever return the favour. The child was a girl, as pale-skinned as Neal and with his green eyes but something of Yuki’s slant to them and Yamani-black hair; her lungs and willingness to use them seemed more her father’s but her squalling was stopped by her mother’s breast. Neal had gone from the mixed anxiety and efficiency of the last twelve hours to bemused wonder, sitting with one arm round Yuki and the other reaching a tentative finger to stroke the baby’s head. Kel left them to it but closing the door found Irnai solemnly looking up at her.

            “Were you watching, Irnai? Wasn’t it amazing?”

            “All births are. The god told me all would be well.”

            “Good. Did she say anything else?”

            “She is being offered more wintersweet. The priestess must have told many people.”

            They emerged into the evening light. “I expect she did. We should put some on her shrine here. I don’t think I’ve seen any growing in the valley, though. You could ask Adner if he knows of any.”

            “I will do that.”

            “Have you eaten? Nor me. Let’s go get food and tell everyone New Hope has a new resident.”

            The news was well received and when Neal and Yuki came with the babe to the Midsummer ceremony next morning there was interested affection. Everyone knew Yuki could have gone to Corus for her pregnancy—had been expected to go—and appreciated her staying. With so much to be done Kel kept the ceremony brief, though her prayers to Mithros and the Goddess were heartfelt, and she added thanks for the births of Daine’s and Yuki’s babies. She left Neal to relay word to his father by spellmirror and went to supervise the corral while Geraint was dealing with the bridge.

            Later that day a courier with impeccable timing delivered a mailbag that included, with a bundle of letters for Kel, missives from the King. One, in his own hand, thanked her for her letter about the Tirrsmont refugees, observing it had given Thayet a deal of amusement and promising to do better in future. The other, over his signature, was the charter of the Craftsbeings’ Guild, which Kel read out at dinner.

            “It’s an important day, people. The war’s still on, and you know my gut as well as my head tell me we’re going to face a real fight here before it’s done. But _this_ is looking to the future, to New Hope not as a refugee camp or fort, but as a town. Many of you have homes you’d like to get back to. Some don’t. And if you think you’d like to stay, with the craftsbeings who’ve indicated that’s what they want, it’s time to say so. The clerks will keep a list. If you’ve questions about the guild and how it’s going to work, talk to Master Valestone.”

            Idrius stood. “You all know where to find me. But I’ve a question, if I may, Lady Kel.” She nodded and he cleared his throat as silence deepened. “We’ll become a fief. It’s Tortall’s way. I know whose fief it ought to be and I’ve heard it might be. Can you tell us anything.”

            Kel felt herself flush. “I cannot say for certain, Master Valestone, but the vote of the King’s Council was that no decision will be made until the war is over, and that when it is considered, if I make a claim, it will be considered first.”

            “And will you make a claim, my Lady?”

            There was no avoiding it and her stomach churned. “I may not be alive to do so, Master Valestone—this war’s already killed me once, remember—but if I am and it’s truly what people want—I will.”

            Any reply Idrius made was drowned and Kel sat with her flush deepening. She was relieved her friends seemed as pleased as everyone but wondered at it, trying to imagine how she’d feel under Merric’s or Neal’s command if they were in line for such elevation. The notion of herself as a baroness seemed ludicrous though she knew she was a military commander in a way none of them were save Dom, and that he couldn’t have done what she had with New Hope. She endured their satisfaction, but did manage for once to slip away to claim an early night and read a letter from her parents with news that Demadria had a son and all was well with her new nephew.

            She was up before dawn and after glaive practice and breakfasting went to the corral with squads from the building team. With the moat completed most labour had been returned to Adner, but about a hundred people came to help dig the outlet sough and plaster mud onto the last part of the wall and completed sections of alure and ramps, or provide muscle for teams working on buildings. The availability of cut stone had allowed walls to rise astonishingly rapidly; the stable built for Peachblossom had been reused. The masons had set dark fin blocks as lowest and highest courses, framing doors, windows, and each step of the stable wall, and it looked fine.

            In mid-morning she reluctantly headed to her office and endless paperwork, swollen by district reports sent by Sir Rannac but including the bundle of Corus correspondence. One thick roll turned out to be accounts from the Protector’s Maids, and Kel sat stunned as she took in the figures. All were doing well, some spectacularly; Lalasa had advanced money to a further five women and sent agreements for signature. A letter had news of the self-defence classes, swollen by female servants from the Palace, and announced she’d accepted Tomas, asking whether Kel would be coming to Corus for Midwinter; if so they’d hold the ceremony then, if not, they’d wait. Kel was delighted and said as much in an immediate reply but hesitated over the commitment: Neal, Merric, Brodhelm, and Mikal all had claims for leave, as did Uinse, and she’d have to get them some before winter set in, but she knew she’d be expected at the King’s Council and if Diamondflame did return to see Kitten there were questions she wanted to ask, so she added that she would be in Corus and planning should start. A postscript reminded Lalasa to invite Thayet and Shinko. Her mood was soured by the discovery of three more proposals from strangers among her other letters, one sufficiently indecent to deserve no response, and she took herself off to see how chains and portcullis were coming.

            Her introspection wasn’t helped by the greater weight of command, though all was quiet, or her imminent birthday. She hadn’t really celebrated it since her days in Yaman, but Neal had usually remembered in her page and squire years. In the wake of Rathhausak she’d barely remembered herself, but felt that twenty, if shy of majority, ought to be marked. She was quiet at dinner, her mind cast back along the path that had brought her to New Hope, and found sleep hard to come by, but dreamless when it claimed her. Rising before dawn and considering her scars in her mirror she decided it was just another day, but was pre-empted by finding Tobe in her outer room, hair tousled but dressed, scratching Jump.

            “Happy birthday, Ma.”

            She hugged him with swirling emotions, and scratched Jump herself. “Thank you, Tobe. How did you know?”

            “Captain Dom told me.”

            “Did he? That was nice of him. Do other people know?”

            “I didn’t think you’d want that.”

            “You’re right.” The thought struck like an arrow. “You’ve never told me when your birthday is.”

            “I dunno—spring sometime, but auld Eula didn’t remember.”

            “Then you must choose a day. When would you like?”

            He scrunched up his face. “What day was it you found me?”

            “Um … March seventeenth.” The day of Freja’s funeral.

            “Then that day.”

            Moved, she hugged him again. “Deal. I’m sorry I missed it this year. I owe you a present.”

            “You don’t owe me nothing.” He frowned. “And ain’t that you all over, Ma? It’s _your_ birthday and we’re talking about _mine_. I owe you a present and a lot more, but I couldn’t think what to give until Captain Dom helped. And St’aara. It’s down at the corral.”           

            “Alright. We’ll need an escort. Standing orders are for me, too.”

            They saddled Alder and Hoshi, and with Peachblossom tagging along, mane heavy with sparrows, collected half-a-dozen of the duty squad at the gatehouse. Dawn gave enough light for the tauros skulls not to leer out of gloom, the sky was clear, earth and young crops fragrant with dew. At the corral she asked the soldiers to wait, and followed Tobe through the piled blocks of the rising gatehouse. He pointed to the stables, and she came to a stunned halt.

            In the centre of the first and longest step of the wall a black Mindelan owl looked out at her with golden eyes from a blue field above crossed cream glaives, all within her creamy grey distaff and golden ducal borders. She had to go right up to it before she realised it was petrified wood basilisk-bonded to the stone, and the colours were not paint; in sunlight it would look even more spectacular. Tobe came up beside her.

            “Is it alright, Ma? Captain Dom said about the flag he and poor Corporal Fulcher made for you, but there isn’t a flagpole here.”

            A noise had her head swinging round but it was only Peachblossom negotiating the gatehouse, followed by Alder and Hoshi. Nari flew to her shoulder, peeping, others circling excitedly.

            “It’s wonderful, Tobe. You made it?”

            “We all did. I cut out the owl and its eyes and the glaives, but Turner Farrel did the circles for me. I commissioned him, so I need to get a coin out of that purse from the King. He knows why I couldn’t ask you before, but he said he’d keep it to himself. And St’aara petrified it, of course, and put it up.”

            “You all did wonderful jobs. Thank you.”

            Peachblossom snorted satisfaction and Tobe grinned. “He approves. So do Hoshi and Alder. He carried it down for me. What is it?”

            Her eyes were wet. “It’s just emotion leaking, Tobe. Lots of emotions, not hurt. Since we met my life’s changed as much as yours. I’m just twenty, the future’s so uncertain, and part of me thinks I shouldn’t be alive. Gods know I’m glad to be, but what happened wasn’t right.”

            His old man came to his eyes. “You’re worried about that timeway.”

            “That as well. And Maggur in Hamrkeng, and where Sir Guisant’s hiding, but … remember when we met you couldn’t quite believe it for a while? I think that’s how I feel about everything this morning. The only cure’s a hug.”

            She was back in control by the time she found St’aara and Dom to thank them, but dismayed by his reserve when she dared touch his arm.

            “It seemed right, Kel. You’re already the Lady of New Hope.”

            She didn’t deny it but commanding Dom was odder than commanding yearmates, and the idea of him as a cool liegeman twisted her heart. In a way her fantasies hadn’t encompassed, his injury put a greater barrier between them than her own, but his restored kindness to Tobe and care to remember the day renewed desire, though she knew it unreturned. It was a relief when Duke Baird arrived in early afternoon, outpacing his escort up the roadway in haste to see his granddaughter. At dinner his besotted praise touched and amused everyone, but when a full-blown healer’s discussion of Cloestra’s egg-laying threatened Kel left them to it and went to greet the stormwing before going to the shrines to offer prayers to the Black God and Goddess for her life. On impulse she made a bow to Lord Sakuyo, and after a second stuck out her tongue. To her surprise she felt a gust of amusement and that calm that had come to her at the wedding, and slowly headed back to Cloestra.

            “Do you know anything about the trickster gods?”

            Steel glinted in moonlight. “Enough to steer clear. Which ones?”

            “Lord Sakuyo.” She thought of George. “And the Crooked God.”

            “My dam said Sakuyo was alright but I’ve never met him. Kyprioth’s trouble. Sometimes the fun kind, sometimes not. He’s a nasty temper and from what Barzha says he’s been quiet lately, so he’s probably up to something. But I doubt it’s here. Things are moving in the Copper Isles and if he’s not stirring I’ll be surprised. Why do you ask, Protector?”

            “It occurred to me my life is one enormous practical joke. It’s my birthday, you see. I bowed to Lord Sakuyo then stuck out my tongue and I think he laughed, but I also felt calmer.”

            Cloestra bated, steel scritching. “You grow in wisdom as well as years. How old _are_ you?”

            “Twenty.”

            “Now _that’s_ a joke.” She grinned. “I am in my twenty-third century, and cannot remember the beginning of my first.” The grin changed. “And it might be Sakuyo’s kind of joke. He likes younglings, by all accounts. Kyprioth and the Hag, too. She picked the Godborn younger than you to set those dinosaurs dancing in Ozorne’s palace.”

            “Were you there?”

            “Oh yes. Shall I tell you the story?”

            It was, Kel decided, her second present of the day—a very different account than any she’d heard from Daine or Numair, filled with interesting detail. It left her feeling mellower about the Hag’s sense of humour; she’d always liked Bonedancer, but hyenas now seemed more reasonable, and the warnings given Ozorne—galloping statue and cake of rats—as well as a dinosaur riot put what had happened to her in new perspective. Thanking Cloestra she made her way to bed, stroking Jump when she tucked Tobe in, and fell into the vivid dream of running with Yuki and the blossoms, breathlessly happy but filled with an erotic sense of a man she could never see watching her, and beneath both sensations that welling calm. Her memories faded as she woke, but she did find herself oddly certain that whatever joke Sakuyo might be playing it wasn’t _on_ her; through her, perhaps—she might even _be_ the joke, or one of its bearers—but she should be the one laughing, as the god did. It was better than fretting.

            Baird intended to stay for the conference and work with Neal on some delicate problems—weak hearts and lungs that needed two Gifts working together to heal—so he was there two days later when the look-outs blew alarm for a large body of Scanrans coming south. Kel and Brodhelm were in the fields below the glacis, Alder in barding, and with that much warning it was possible to get people back into New Hope safely, including those working beyond the fin. By the time the first Scanrans came into view from the ground only herders and animals had yet to cross the moatbridge, and to get to them the Scanrans would have to come through seven mounted squads, arrayed in double line with five squads of archers behind them, the best Kel had, all with six-foot self bows and three griffin-fletched broadheads as well as full quivers.

            The Scanrans paused as they saw the waiting cavalry but either there was an officer among them or they were only waiting for their fellows, for as numbers swelled they came forward, walking then trotting. They had a mile or more to come, and before the leaders had covered half that the flow of new riders at the back thinned and stopped. There were about two hundred all told, Kel reckoned, and made her decision. She counted down the distance aloud; at three hundred yards her cavalry moved aside, and at two-hundred-and-fifty yards the first flights of ordinary arrows were in the air, more following as fast as the archers could nock and draw. The front of the charge faltered at its sides as horses fell, and the riders behind had to check and weave. Losing momentum they became more bunched, forced together by falling horses on the flanks, and at one hundred yards the pattern of fire changed, each archer taking targets directly in front of him and using griffin-fletched needleheads. For all the drills some Scanrans were hit twice but it didn’t matter: the effect was devastating. Leather and chainmail could not stop an accurate needlehead at this range, and with griffin fletching it was no longer horses falling but men being punched clean from the saddle, by the dozen and score. Riderless horses broke right and left, passing through the gaps Kel left as her cavalry spurred forward to smash from both sides into the rearmost riders, blind until the last moment to the slaughter that had happened in front of them and the pincer attack they faced.

            It was brutal, ugly, and fast. They took injuries, some serious, but no deaths, and to Kel’s complete surprise the last score of Scanrans surrendered, throwing down weapons and dismounting, hands wide. She was more used to Scanran injured asking for the mercy stroke than prisoners, and what to do with them was an instant headache. Sir Myles would want information, and the cell would not hold half their number. When she found herself wondering if a section of corral moat might serve as a prison she shook her head, asked Brodhelm to summon healers to the field, and called out in Scanran, asking who would speak for them. After some glances a thickset man with a forked beard took a cautious step forward.

            “I am not an officer but I was once a sergeant.”

            “And you are?”

            “Stanar Petarsson, Clan Somalkt.”

            She remembered news of Maggur’s assault on Somalkt, which had resisted his rule. “I am Keladry of Mindelan, commanding here. Why are you no longer a sergeant?”

            “Because that was in another army.”

            “Fair enough. And what do you expect, surrendering?”

            He shrugged. “To live? We are forced to fight. Our chiefs command it because Maggur holds their children. We were not rearmost for nothing, and we have heard you killed the Kinslayer and the _nicor_ mage and burned Rathhausak. You took in Freja Haraldsdottir’s son after you killed her when she tried to kill you, and let others go, warning of the Black God’s wrath. Perhaps we are cowards. Or perhaps we are sensible.”

            “You’re a problem. We’re a refugee camp not a prison, and there haven’t been a lot of prisoners taken in this war.”

            “No.” He shrugged again. “But we have heard you do new things.”

            “I do.” Deep breath. “Will you—all of you—swear gods’ oaths you will neither try to escape, nor bear any weapon against Tortall, nor harm any at New Hope while you are here? If you will, you can stay in a barn, eat with us, and have freedom to exercise, until I find out what my superiors want to do with you. If you won’t, I’ll have to confine or shackle you as best we can. You’ll have food and healers but no liberty.”

            There were murmurs but Stanar shrugged again. “I cannot fight against my chief but I can swear all of _that_. It is better than being dead and you rescue children, not hold them hostage.” 

            A thinner man spoke. “You will trust us?”

            “Not yet—that’s why I said a gods’ oath. If you break it you’ll die. Now, if you would swear, cast down all weapons and do so.”

            A scatter of daggers joined the axes, swords, and spears on the earth, and after Kel gave Stanar the wording she required they swore one by one to the chimes. It seemed to take forever, and she could hear healers arriving and setting to work, but it was done at last.

            “Right. Help round up all your horses.” She looked round. “They can go in the corral for now, Brodhelm.”

            “Very good, my Lady. Sir Nealan needs to speak to you.”

            His stiff manner set off alarms in Kel’s mind that doubled as she saw Neal’s pale face and tears. She swung herself down from Alder’s back and went to him, hands reaching for his.

            “Neal, what is it?”

            His voice was flat. “Merric’s dead.”

            Her brain became ice as her gut clenched in denial. “How?”

            “Rogal pushed him and he fell from the alure. His neck was broken. There was nothing father or I could do.”


	16. Judgement

**Chapter Sixteen — Judgement**

_29–30 June_

 

Kel knew Merric’s parents would probably want his body returned to Hollyrose but it would take days to contact them, it was high summer, and New Hope did not have sufficient salt or spirits, so with Vanget’s sad acquiescence she ordered burial at Haven. The coffin was petrified; on Baird’s advice herbs and insect banes were added, and he and Neal infused what magic they could. Kel had Merric’s armour removed but left him sword on breast, skin washed clean of sweat and dust and hair brushed. In death his face was stark and his red hair dull, but freckles stood out across his cheeks and nose. There was no rage or terror in his expression, only a sense of puzzlement she distantly thought was her own, the one emotion escaping the lock on her rage, grief, and guilt.

            The second funeral in six weeks was unlike the first, not only in the contrast of sixteen coffins and one. Deaths in action were in some sense fair, even when civilians died; they shocked and hurt, but didn’t surprise. This was a death within, in but not of war, and the man responsible not a dead or departed enemy but prisoner in New Hope; beneath sorrow everyone felt an ugly fury Kel knew she had to address. With the building team and every soldier attending save yesterday’s seriously injured and a skeleton watch, more than a thousand people accompanied Merric to premature rest. The ranks of immortals attending were also swollen, spidrens coming to join the procession at the foot of the Haven roadway and the Stone Tree Nation circling overhead. Once they understood what was happening the prisoners asked to attend in respect, and Kel agreed, allowing no objections; they walked in a group, heads bared and eyes veiled save to cast wondering glances at stormwings or spidrens. Kel walked in front of the cart carrying the coffin, drawn by Alder and Hoshi; Peachblossom walked beside her with Merric’s warhorse and an honour guard.

            Remembrances took more than two hours. Neal, Seaver, and Prosper described the page who’d helped fight Joren’s bullies and hill bandits, his injury in that skirmish and fierce defence of Kel against Lord Wyldon’s mistaken criticism; the squire who’d been a good friend on the road to adulthood. Baird recalled a boy he’d treated and spoke of the family he knew, Merric’s parents’ and siblings’ pride in him, the wonder they’d feel at the way he was being honoured. But most speakers came from the Haven rescuees, whom Merric had led back to Tortall, and men of Brodhelm’s Eighth with whom he’d worked closely. They recalled courage and determination, good humour and bad jokes, a word of help given or received, unruly hair, temper when roused and ready kindness; a young knight of achievement and promise, stern and careful on patrol, relaxed and approachable within New Hope. Brodhelm spoke bluntly of admiration for a man thrust too soon into war who made a mistake in good faith, and faced it painfully, determined to learn better; willing to serve when he might have hoped to command. Mikal remembered slingwork and helmet mesh. Uinse and Jacut told the story of their Sakuyo’s Day jest and Merric’s laughing chagrin when he realised he’d been fooled. Jump, sitting at the foot of the coffin, raised himself once to howl, long and loud, and as the sound faded lay again, tail still; Merric had always had time to tug an ear, and strips of jerky. The sparrows were silent throughout, as were horses, clustered immortals, and stormwings perched around the knoll. When all were done a drained Kel felt she’d been left nothing to say and looked at Barzha, but the stormwing shook her head.

            “When Merric came with us into Scanra he was so badly injured he had to be strapped to his horse for the first days. He never complained. I shall miss him so badly.” She tried to frame thoughts chasing in her mind. “It’s strange. I can’t honestly say he’s the first of our year of knights to die, because of that stupid way I died myself. But it’s true anyway and we won’t ever be the same again. And his death seems to have been needless, a moment of rage or stupidity not his own. Tomorrow we will find out exactly what happened and decide what has to be done. Today we lay him to rest, with love and sorrow.”

            The stone coffin was too heavy for mortal hands and the ogres who had carried it from cart to graveside lowered it into the plot, twenty-eighth in the row stretching away from the mass grave.

            “Thank you all.” She opened her arms wide to the blue sky. “He died in our service and I pray he shall find his death his grace, and the Black God’s mercy infinite. So mote it be.”

            The chimes were immediate, the soughing wind louder than ever and winter cold; in its wake Kel felt a sense of benediction that soothed guilt and rage, if not loss. Looking round she saw others felt something too and raised her voice briefly to give thanks to the god for his care of their hearts as well as Merric’s soul. Then it was the long, silent return, groups peeling away to their work until the children and a diminished train of adults surrounding the prisoners followed the empty cart up the roadway. Kel went directly to the shrines accompanied only by Jump, to kneel before the Black God’s, not praying but trying again to encompass her return from death and Merric’s one-way trip; then before the next shrine, Lord Mithros’s, where she did pray, for the strength to deal with Rogal fairly in way of justice, not revenge. The stern face was impassive and Kel felt nothing, but whether that meant Merric’s death bore on the timeway sufficiently to forbid divine interference or was unimportant in the gods’ scheme she couldn’t guess. Giving up she rose stiffly, and found Baird waiting for her, sitting on the steps to the terrace.

            “Your Grace?”

            “Just Baird, please, Keladry. I don’t feel I have any grace today—that’s yours and the Black God’s.” She sat beside him and Jump lay against her feet, panting slightly in the late afternoon heat. “I wanted to say how astonishing and moving that ceremony was. This will sound odd but I’ve been to a lot of funerals and that was very fine. Sooner or later it will be my task, I fear, to try to convey something of it to his parents.” His face was drawn. “Losing a grown child is bitterly hard.”

            “So I have seen. It consumes Lord Burchard.”

            “That is because Joren died so badly, I think. An honourable death is comfort, sometimes, but a dishonourable one a torment always.”

            “And which was this?” Baird blinked.

            “Not dishonourable, certainly, but … ambiguous. Not at enemy hands and drawing punishment in its wake.” He took a breath. “What will you do with Rogal, Keladry? Lord Wyldon told me Sir Voelden and he had claimed protection and I was surprised, but I had not thought through the complications. There are legal difficulties here.”

            “Rogal swore an oath when he entered New Hope to obey all standing and direct orders, and on the alure he was under Merric’s command. The oath was witnessed.” Her voice was unyielding. “Quenuresh is asking the griffins to come tomorrow. None can lie in their presence and we will have the truth, from all who witnessed it and Rogal’s own lips. What I do will depend on what I learn.”

            “And if he did push Merric deliberately?”

            “He was under army jurisdiction and knew it. He was in action, under orders. If there is evidence he slew his superior, in malice or by accident proceeding from wilful disobedience, I will commit him to court martial on capital charges. In a military area in time of war army rules apply, not statute law or noble custom, but as it is possible to do so without endangering my command I will delay that court martial until the commanders arrive and there are officers available for the panel who come to it fresh. Vanget endorsed this course last night.”

            Baird looked relieved. “Very good, Keladry. I should not have doubted you but I was concerned by the anger at Rogal. I still am—you face an ugly job.” He sighed. “We ask so much of our children, so young, with our wars. At your age I could not have done what you are doing. I doubt I could do it now.”

            She gave him a faint smile. “I turned twenty six days ago.”

            “Twenty! Mithros. You did not seem nineteen at Midwinter.”

            “I don’t expect I did. I no longer know how many men I’ve killed, and I’m on my second life. I’d say remind me what young means, but Cloestra already did—she has a century and more for each of my years.”

             He shook his head. “Immortals must see the world very differently. And your second life, yes.” He hesitated but went on. “Alanna told me a little when I asked. Forgive me—I had a vulgar curiosity you must loathe, but she left me feeling humble. I still do. To meet the Black God so, and be sent back …”

            Kel’s eyes were unfocused. “I saw his face when he forgave me the deaths I cause. It’s a quandary. If Rogal is sentenced to death here I’ll have to execute him myself—we have no headsman and I’ll order no man to do what I won’t—but if I send his soul to the Black God his death will become his grace. I don’t think I can bear it.”

            Tears were leaking silently from her and Baird, startled almost witless by what she’d said, had the grace of his title, holding her until the fit passed. He noticed people looking away after one glance, granting them what privacy they could. After a few moments Kel pushed herself upright, for once using a handkerchief for herself.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Please don’t be, Keladry. I suspect you need to do that more often, and I’m glad I was here. But I don’t think I can advise you in your quandary.” He grasped at the simplest part. “Is there really no-one else who could do it, if it has to be done?”

            “No—even Vanget doesn’t have a headsman on staff.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll get over it. It’s just another of the gods’ jokes. They’re full of them, these days.”

            His eyebrows rose but he let it pass, half-afraid of what she might know, and broached the other topic on his mind. “I wanted to thank you on my nephew’s behalf, for your idea of using that Carthaki metal, and taking him in. Lightweight braces will help many and I’ve made sure army healers know of them—we should have thought of it ourselves. But being here has given Domitan back self-respect. His brother’s a good man, but not … imaginative. Domitan didn’t fit at Masbolle any more.”

            “I only gave him work he could do. All else he won back for himself.”

            “That’s not what he says. Nor Nealan and Yukimi.” Kel made no reply, not trusting herself, and he looked at her sidelong. “Well, you’ve always been modest but your kindness is greatly appreciated, though I suspect he hasn’t brought himself to tell you so.”

            Her heart hurt. “Kindness? No, it wasn’t that, Baird. Never that.” She eased Jump from her feet. “Would you observe proceedings tomorrow, please, and speak at will? You’re the senior noble and the only person here not under my authority.”

            “Of course.”

            “Thank you. I must write to Merric’s parents, if you’ll excuse me.”

            He looked after her with a curious expression but she didn’t look back, walking purposefully with Jump at her side until she entered the headquarters building. What had she meant about kindness? When she’d come to Corus as a page she’d been an enigma—stoic to an extraordinary degree, unassuming, a catalyst of rapid change in ways of which she didn’t seem remotely aware. Over time he thought he’d understood her better, learning of her childhood in Yaman and seeing her parents in her. He’d admired her resilience in the face of unrelenting hostility from so many bigots, and heard startling accounts of her demeanour to the King after the farce of Joren’s trial—accounts he’d remembered after her spellbinding displays of controlled rage when those fools Torhelm and Tirrsmont had uttered their obscenities. And he knew he’d never forget the sight and sound of her asking three gods to strike Torhelm down for the foulest insults he’d ever heard; even Alanna had been shaken by that, and trying to explain how she thought Kel felt about gods, and what the insistent sexuality of Torhelm’s language would have meant to her, she’d given him a healer-to-healer account of what the girl had been through, leaving him appalled and wondering. Now he felt again he had no understanding of her at all—so quick to unstinting kindness, so reluctant to acknowledge it or any of her virtues, so _strong_ and formidable yet so bereft and alone. So enraged she barely knew it, and so controlled even when she couldn’t stop tears. And so young, less than a third his age, yet there were moments talking to her when he felt less wise and experienced than he knew himself, less knowledgeable of anything that mattered outside the realm of healing. But what could you expect of one who had seen the Black God’s face? _That_ had not been in any account he’d heard, and he wondered if the King knew, or ought to know, she had been forgiven the deaths she caused. Probably not, but he might talk to Alanna. He rose sighing, and walked to the shrines, offering a prayer for Keladry’s survival and happiness he suspected was superfluous, and went to find his beautiful granddaughter.

 

* * * * *

 

Kel had withdrawn to her rooms after a subdued dinner to comfort a grieving Tobe and let him comfort her, and was talking him through what she expected to happen on the morrow when she heard a newly familiar halting step outside her door. Tobe let Dom in and she made green tea, enjoying the calming ritual and her beautiful Yamani ware but wondering what he wanted. He took the tea gratefully.

            “Thank you. I didn’t use to like this stuff but Yuki’s converted me as well as Neal.” He didn’t use the nickname Meathead any more; Kel suspected he had reserved it to himself, punishment for suffering injury. “And the ceremony for making it is very … I don’t know, civilised. Polite. It calms things down.” He half-smiled. “Even Neal.”

            “His daughter might manage that, if she doesn’t have the opposite effect. Have they decided on a name?”

            “No—they want one that’s Tortallan and Yamani but can’t find one they both like.”

            “Like Nealimi or Yukeal, you mean?”

            “That sort of thing. He’s not thinking about it now though.”

            “No. How is he, Dom?” Neal and Merric had been close and she knew his grief would be keener than her own, and without the guilt.

            “Not so good, but he’ll be alright. It’s shock. I’ve seen it before when someone’s killed in an accident—it’s different from a battledeath.”

            “Yes. Is he angry yet?”

            “Beginning to be.”

            “With me?”

            “Mithros, no. Why should he be, Kel?”

            “I let Rogal in and trusted his oath. I should have known better. I did, if I’m honest.”

            Tobe was stirred to protest. “But you had to let him in, Ma—you said it at the time.”

            “I knew he was trouble and he’s cost Merric his life.”

            “It’s not your fault, Kel.”

            “Isn’t it?”

            “No, it isn’t. Was the Master of the Lists who admitted Sir Voelden responsible for him trying to run you through?”

            “I don’t think it’s the same, Dom. But it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing anyone can do now.”

            “It does matter, Kel. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

            “Easier said than done, Dom, as I imagine you’ve found.”

            He flushed. “Yes. But I was careless. I don’t think you were.”

            “And you cost yourself a wound. I cost another his life. But that’s a price of command, Dom, isn’t it? When I make mistakes, others pay. All I can do is make sure I pay too, and try not to repeat them.” Her curiosity stirred. “Did you come to argue guilt?”

            He surprised her. “Maybe. Uncle Baird said you told him if Rogal is sentenced to death you believe you have to do it yourself.”

            “Commander’s Regulations. Section B, Wartime, _119\. If any official post shall be vacant when incumbency is required, a commander shall appoint themselves or whoever better fitted they may select. All such appointments shall terminate with their command._ If Rogal’s found guilty here it’s our job to execute him, and we have no headsman.”

            “But it doesn’t have to be you, Kel.”

            “Should I ask for volunteers? Think that through, Dom, bearing in mind how people feel—especially some Tirrsmonters.”

            “One of the soldiers, then.”

            “So I order someone else to do what I’m reluctant to do myself? What would my Lord have to say about that?”

            “He didn’t mean that about a situation like this.”

            “Didn’t he? Well, I’ll have the chance to ask him if I’m faced with the decision. But as far as I can see it’s me or sending for a crown headsman—Frasrlund, the haMinchi seat, or Corus are nearest—and that’d take weeks, with Rogal in a condemned cell the while. I don’t want that. Morale aside, I’d have to pull a squad for guard duty, which we can’t afford. If it’s going to happen it’ll need to happen fast.”

            “What about the immortals, Ma? You could ask Var’istaan to turn Rogal into stone and put him on the roadway, like those skulls.”

            She almost snorted laughter but her son was serious, eyes wide and troubled. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a thought, Tobe, but I don’t want our basilisks killing anyone. People are scared of them too easily already. Same for ogres and spidrens. It’s a mortal problem, and mortals have to face it.”

            “And he’d be a really ugly statue, Tobe.”

            “I suppose.” He gave Dom a weak grin. “It’s just so unfair on Ma.”

            “Not really, Tobe.” She shifted her arm to hug him. “It’s command. And if I can’t take a joke, I shouldn’t have joined.” Even if the joke was one only gods could have devised and pierced to the core of punishment and forgiveness both for her and Rogal. The more she considered it the louder she heard Sakuyo laugh. “Don’t worry about it—we’ll cope. And it’s bedtime—tomorrow’ll be a long day.”

            He didn’t protest but made goodnights, leaning in to kiss her cheek and Dom’s, and collecting Jump. As she closed the door behind him Dom let his grin show, warming her heart.

            “Petrify Rogal and stick him on the roadway? That’s a good one. I dread to think what his nickname would be.” He shook his head wonderingly. “Tobe’s a good lad, Kel. You did a fine thing adopting him—it’s given him pride in himself.”

            “Yes, he’s a great comfort to me. I think the gods put him in my path but we’ve found something together. War’s hardest on children, I believe. Your uncle seemed to think so.”

            “He said.” His look was very strange. “And he reminded me … not that I should need it … I haven’t thanked you for giving _me_ back some pride. No, let me finish. Everyone else saw my wound and stopped. I did myself. I can’t do _that_ anymore, so I can’t do anything. You saw me whole and what I could still do. And you were so practical—the brace and ramps. I didn’t think I could ever do real work again, or be content. So thank you, Kel. You’re an astonishing person, and I’m very grateful.”

            She didn’t trust herself to speak for a moment. “You’re welcome, Dom, but you don’t need to thank me. Your work does that every day. Having you at the corral lifts a burden from me. And it’s a boon to see you in better spirits, so I’m doubly repaid for common sense.”

            “Very uncommon sense, actually.”

            Slowly the silence matured from mutual embarrassment to a greater ease; almost their old camaraderie, but the diminishment of wounds lay between them, and Kel’s suppression of spiking desire left her with a singing, hollow feeling. She wanted to be comforted as much as anything more intimate, to be held by him as his uncle had held her, demanding nothing. She saw he was frowning.

            “Uncle Baird also muttered something I didn’t understand, about a divine joke. Can you explain?”

            “I could, Dom, but I’m not sure I want to.”

            “Oh. Of course. I’m so—”

            “No, don’t be. There’s no need. It’s just rather private. And I think of lots of things as divine jokes these days, you know. Once you meet a god … well, none of them have been remotely what I expected. In a funny way I’ve come to think they’re like soldiers in the field—the worse things are the louder they laugh. Or maybe it’s just how they pass time.”

            He surprised her again. “I asked Cloestra about this timeway thing and spiralling. Maybe it’s that—if time’s echoing itself somehow it could seem like a joke.” He held his hands inches apart. “Like a pun—things sounding alike that aren’t.”

            “Huh. There’s a thought. So the joke’s on everyone, even gods? Mmm. It takes malice out. I like that. Who told you about the timeway?”

            “Neal. I was trying to catch up with everything that’s happened here, and to you. He said not to blab and I haven’t.”

            “It’s not exactly secret, Dom—immortals talk about it, as you’ve discovered—but it’s hard to explain and if you do it’s just another worry people can’t do anything about. So quiet seems best. But it’s a big part of what has caught the gods’ attention, and some immortals’—Quenuresh, certainly, and Diamondflame—so I have to try to think about it.”

            He shook his head. “I can’t grasp it, Kel, and don’t know how you do. That business with the Chamber was weird enough. This is beyond me.”

            “Tell me, Dom. Prosper said it—I was always the _least_ god-touched person. That was Alanna’s role, and why they kept her away from me all those years. It’s the thing I find hardest to forgive Wyldon, you know, and the King. But now I’m thick with gods, struggling with a prophecy and some divine crisis that goes back to the Godwars. It’s another of those jokes, you know. All I’m trying to do is guess the punchline.”

            “But that’s what I mean, Kel. No mortal can see it. Cloestra said being two thousand years old didn’t help—only the oldest immortals and gods understand. But you know that and take it on anyway and _cope_ with it—doing the best you can. Cloestra was very admiring of your treaty with Barzha, not just for itself and healers’ aid—I still can’t quite believe that—but as strategy. I hadn’t understood that at all.”

            “She told you about the prophecy?”

            “Yes. Quite a lot of people know, Kel, but they understand why you don’t talk about it so they don’t either. But they see, as I did, that you’re fighting for them in every way, not just physical defence. It’s why you let Sir Voelden and Rogal in, isn’t it? You didn’t know what part they might have to play and tried to do what you do with everyone—recruit them so their strength is added to winning and surviving.”

            No-one else had seen it so clearly. “Yes, partly. I wasn’t really thinking about Rogal. It was just to have Voelden, of all people, supplicating _my_ protection … with that much irony it seemed significant, and if I’d sent him away who knows what he’d being doing? Rogal came attached, and Emerint.”

            “Well, you _have_ recruited Emerint—he’s very angry with Rogal, by the way. Says this is a good billet and Rogal shouldn’t have done anything to mess it up. You might reassure him you don’t hold him to blame.”

            “Thanks, Dom. I’ll do that.”

            “And I think you’ve recruited Sir Voelden as well. He’s not the man I saw at Tirrsmont or on Progress. Quieter, more careful when he does speak. Works hard, too. Merric didn’t have any complaints about him.”

            “We came to an understanding. He hates my guts but he … no, that’s not mine to say. We dealt with what happened. He agrees defending New Hope trumps all, and recognises me as commander. He’s been humbled, and I don’t think he’s much of a person, but he’s not honourless and he’s trying. I don’t want whatever happens with Rogal to set him back—they’ve had very little contact since they’ve been here that I’ve seen.”

            “They didn’t eat together, and I think one reason he was keen to patrol was to get away from Rogal.”

            “Mmm. It also spares him saying much, and he’s happy with silence just now. That may change. The patrol sergeants say he’s competent to lead a patrol. We’ll see.” He nodded and she made a decision. “One thing, Dom—you should shift out of that guestroom and take Merric’s rooms—they can’t stand empty, you’re the obvious person, and with the commanders’ conference we’ll need the guestroom.”

            He didn’t like it but nodded. “Will you change command structure?”

            “No. We’ll miss Merric cruelly but on paper he was supernumerary, though I used the same pattern for Seaver and Prosper with the other companies. I’m not putting Voelden in Merric’s shoes, and I don’t want to move others. By rights Verrec should have been patrol captain as Brodhelm’s second and he’s been sharing it with Merric for a year. He takes over solo, and Merric’s seat on the Council.”

            “Fair enough. Patrolling’s reduced anyway.”

            “Yes, but if there are weeks when we can reduce field labour before harvesting starts I’ll restrict people inside and beef up patrols. There are too many places we haven’t looked in too long, Dom, and with Daine’s network so limited … I must ask stormwings and griffins if they’ll fly sweeps.” Her fist clenched. “It doesn’t make sense. Maggur’s missing a trick being idle just now. If he was hitting us hard we’d be in trouble.”

            “He’s got troubles of his own, from what I hear.”

            “Maybe. Thank Mithros, whatever it is. But we’re blind, all the same. So, patrols. And with luck some information from Stanar Petarsson and his friends as well. How are people feeling about them?”

            “Better than you’d think. They’re quite sympathetic. Zerhalm and Irnai explained how the hostages thing works with clanchiefs. Some are soldiers by trade, like Stanar, but most are conscripted farmers and craftsmen, so they’re victims too. And Rogal’s taking the fury about Merric. There’s your stunning victory too, Kel. It hasn’t gone unnoticed though no-one’s saying anything. I think they’re shocked—I was.”

            “It was a slaughter, Dom. And if we ever face a siege that’s what we’ll have to do tenfold or more. I dread it. And a besieging force won’t be so obligingly foolhardy. What _was_ their commander thinking?”

            “That you were in full retreat and had less than half his number of cavalry with some ground troops who wouldn’t be better archers than most and might be worse. You suckered him and the drills paid off the way they’re supposed to. You also expended a hundred-and-fifty griffin arrows at less than a hundred yards and every one found a mark. We’ve got more than eighty of them back, by the way.”

            “That’s quick. Gods, what a job. Who did it?”

            “Stormwings. They piled the Scanran dead at sunset and all the unbroken arrows and fletched ends were bundled to one side.” His smile was crooked. “One use for razor-edged wings, I suppose. Uinse sent a squad to get them and fire the corpses.”

            “I must thank Barzha. Huh. I wonder if they get what they need just from stacking corpses. Building blocks rather than dolls.”

            “Gods, what a thought.” His smile returned, almost unwillingly. “Uinse’s lads’ll like it. He did ask Barzha if she needed to see you before they burned the corpses, and she said no. He reckoned they’d … ‘got off’ was his phrase, on the battle itself. Did you see them during it?”

            “I didn’t see them at all.”

            “I dragged myself to the gatehouse roof. It was like looking at a model except it was happening—your cavalry and archers, the Scanrans charging, and stormwings gliding in a circle three hundred feet up. When you sprang the trap they came lower. I swear they were _savouring_ it.”

            “They probably were, Dom. Their food’s emotion. Think of the wave of realisation in those riders as the ones before them went down. And our triumph in slaughter. It must have been quite the feast.”

            “Gods. Again. I’d forgotten you could be so deadpan.”

            She found herself grinning. “There’s not many people I can be like this with here, Dom. And I’ve been thinking about stormwings a lot. Peace is a kind of starvation for them, and from what Cloestra said about getting herself pregnant after Rathhausak births must drop when they’re starving and increase in wartime. So the more mortals fight, the more stormwings there are likely to be, but numbers decline in peace—it’s like the animal systems Master Lindhall used to describe. Lots of grass, more rabbits. More rabbits, more owls and eagles. Too many rabbits, not enough grass, and rabbits start starving. So do owls and eagles. It’s a balance but gives stormwings a vested interest in war. So a question—what can they feed on in peacetime?”

            He frowned. “No idea, Kel. Nothing’s like battle and dying.”

            “Training’s supposed to be like battle.”

            “Not emotionally. A very poor meal, I’d think.”

            “Yes. We need something with lots of emotion.” A thought came. “Something _children_ do—like a swing over a waterhole. All shrieking excitement. That must be why they like children so much—I’ve seen Cloestra staring at the playground. Drinking, maybe. Something that gave children a real thrill … moments when your heart’s in your mouth with the fun of it.”

            “I remember. There was a waterhole and swing near Masbolle, but the rapids were better. About a mile downriver, little ones with a route through them, sitting on a log, but the first time—it was a test.”

            “Yes. I wonder how stormwings would get on with the Chamber? Would they get drunk?” She grinned at his horrified look. “I must talk to Barzha. The treaty’s only good while war lasts, but isn’t it better having stormwings as auxiliaries than defilers?”

            He blinked. “You want to reform stormwings so they don’t play with corpses any more?”

            “Of course. It’s a bad habit. Mothers don’t approve.” To laugh at herself without bitterness was balm. “It’s good to talk, Dom. I missed your company, not just your skills.” What else she missed didn’t matter. “It’s wonderful having Yuki but she doesn’t approve of soldiers’ humour and Neal does carry on so when I shock him. But I must get my head down. Tomorrow might be alright or a nightmare. I can’t be asleep on my feet.” At the door she couldn’t stop herself putting a hand to his cheek for a second, as once to Quenuresh’s, but turned it to a grasp of his shoulder when she saw his surprise. “Thanks, Dom. It helps a lot.”

            He was still there when she gently closed the door but after a moment limped away. Her bed called, but she needed to read her legal notes and the regulations for a commander’s enquiry into acts potentially warranting a capital charge. Sighing, she went to her worktable.

 

* * * * *

 

They had been assembled only a few minutes next morning before the griffins circled in, gleaming sunlight, and swooped to land beside Kel on the terrace. She sat before the shrines, three clerks at a table to one side, sworn to record truly all they observed. To their right Rogal sat, guarded. Baird had a chair on the other side, and below them New Hope was assembled, even prisoners; even the duty watch was in earshot. The spidrens had come, and Whitelist and his mates. Cloestra watched from her roost, and the rest of the Stone Tree Nation were perched on rooftops; sniffing gently, Kel thought they were probably here for the emotional feast, but all had washed. Most people seated themselves, knowing it would be a long, hot morning and probably afternoon, but all rose with Kel as the griffins came in. When they had settled Kel bowed and received imperious nods from the adults.

            “Thank you for coming, my Lord and Lady.” Her voice was pitched to carry. “Quenuresh, please ask them to sit before me on either side. Junior can sit where he likes so long as he keeps still.”

            Before she’d finished the griffins were moving, reseating themselves in the tucked posture of patient cats. Junior trotted over to boot at her knee before gliding from the terrace to land by Amiir’aan and Bel’iira. Kel shifted to speak to everyone.

            “You all know the power of the Honesty Gate. That is griffin magic and in their presence no mortal can knowingly lie. I cannot, nor any who will give evidence, nor Rogal when he speaks. In courtesy, I order all who come to speak to bow to them first, as I have done. Please sit.”

            She stayed standing.

            “Hear me clearly. This is not a court martial, nor a vote. It is a commander’s enquiry into the death of Sir Merric of Hollyrose two days ago, and into evidence reported to me that he was pushed to his death by Rogal, formerly a captain of arms in the employ of the then Lord of Tirrsmont and at the time of Sir Merric’s death under his command. It is held in public because you are concerned to understand what happened, but it is a military proceeding and you are spectators only. _If_ the evidence reported is sustained, Rogal will be committed to court martial when the commanders arrive. If it is _not_ sustained I shall do as truth demands.” She took a deep breath. “There is a difficulty. Rogal has stated he believes he can get no fair hearing here, and rejects my authority. But that I assert. I granted him refuge at New Hope only with provision that he come under military jurisdiction and swear to obey all standing and direct orders given him by those in authority. His oath was witnessed by my captains, including Sir Merric, who made formal depositions of witness. Still, Rogal’s claim he cannot be heard fairly here has some merit—Sir Merric was my friend as well as my officer, and we mourn him bitterly, while Rogal is yet a stranger and has made no friends. And I will not have it said we act with injustice.”

            Some would say it anyway but she would give them no ammunition and herself no avoidable nightmares.

            “Nevertheless, I judge Rogal’s claim to have insufficient merit. All I am enquiring into is what caused Sir Merric to fall. If it was murder, I need to know, and to commit Rogal to court martial as regulations and justice require. The griffins ensure truth will be spoken. His Grace of Queenscove is independent of my authority and shall speak as he will. And all who give evidence will be available to any court martial. It is enough when we are at war and a knight of the realm needlessly dead.”

            She sat.

            “Mikal of Holtwood was senior within the walls when Sir Merric fell, and Sergeant Connac Sir Merric’s second on the alure. I will first hear them, then the soldiers posted nearest to Rogal and his crenel partner. Sir Neal will speak as the healer called after Sir Merric fell. Rogal may speak for himself. Does anyone else believe they have evidence those I have named will not know?” She waited. “Very well. Rogal, is there anyone you would have speak I have not listed?”

            His voice was hoarse and his manner surly. “Sir Voelden.”

            “Alright.” She knew exactly where the knight was sitting and caught his eye. “Sir Voelden, please be prepared to speak after Rogal.” He nodded reluctantly. “Mikal of Holtwood, captain of Northwatch Company Fourteen, please come forward.”

            Mikal had been in the gatehouse, arriving after Merric had fallen, and ordered Rogal’s arrest because everyone he questioned had said that Rogal pushed Merric from the alure; names were entered in the record. He could add that Merric had spoken several times, including that day, of difficulties with Rogal as insubordinate and refractory, constantly making clear his high opinion of his own command ability and scorn for Kel’s and Merric’s. Connac specified the problem as it had taken shape when the Scanrans began closing—Rogal’s conviction that with griffin-fletched arrows any archer with a good self bow could hit the Scanrans from the alures as they charged, and that it was a fatal misjudgement to order anything else. All specially fletched arrows were a bone of contention for him, Connac added—he had wanted since arriving to be issued them and was bitterly resentful not to have access at will, as a master archer if not as captain. The soldiers who’d been at crenels on either side filled in the narrative—backchat and rude gestures from Rogal, Merric’s wearing temper as tension rose, Rogal taking a griffin-fletched arrow when Merric had unlocked the cases, giving clear instructions no special arrows were to be touched without direct orders and recognising the shimmering fletching when Rogal nocked the arrow, again without orders. Rogal’s crenel partner described the moment—Rogal beginning to draw, intent on firing, Merric’s deft removal of the nocked arrow and the whirling, angry push that took him off balance, to stagger hard against the railing in his top-heavy half-armour and pivot over as his feet went from under him. Neal had found the broken arrowshaft gripped in his hand.

            Kel halted for an hour to allow everyone to eat. The griffins refused food but drank from the spring, and sat quietly with Junior, presumably talking; Kel took the opportunity to relay via Quenuresh Vanget’s thanks for the Honesty Gate at Northwatch. When people settled again Kel called Rogal. After jerky bows to the griffins, his speech, punctuated by straining silences and shifting word choice amounted to angry observation that only a fool interfered with a master archer drawing and he’d been aiming at a Scanran, as he was supposed to do. His reaction had been natural and unavoidable; implicitly Merric’s fall was an accident for which he bore no responsibility, but he didn’t actually say it and Kel suspected he couldn’t because he knew it wasn’t true. Her Yamani mask was so tightly in place she was conscious of her skin’s stiffness.

            “Can you deny you took a griffin-fletched arrow from its case?”

            He tried briefly, and gave up. “No.”

            “Can you deny that in doing so you disobeyed a direct order of which you were fully aware?”

            He tried harder with the same result. The male griffin turned its head, eyeing him. “No.”

            “Can you deny you nocked and began to draw, intending to fire, without orders to do so?”

            “No.”

            “Can you deny that you pushed Sir Merric, with both hands on the breastplate, and that in consequence he hit the railing and pivoted over it, falling to his death?”

            The answer was a long time coming though his mouth muscles were trying to work, and both griffins shifted. “No.”

            She considered the nature of lies and men who lied. “When you pushed Sir Merric did you intend him to fall to his death?”

            “No.”

            His voice grated and Kel frowned. How could he only just _not_ have intended it? Then she knew.

            “When you saw what was happening after you pushed Sir Merric did you _hope_ he would fall to his death?”

            He flushed but said nothing, mouth working again, and both griffins rose, lashing their tails. Quenuresh’s voice came from below.

            “The griffins say he seeks to lie, straining as to pass a stool.”

            Kel shifted question. “Rogal, what is the lie you wish to tell?”

            “NO.” The word burst from him as it became truth and he sagged.

            She swallowed disgust. “So the truth is yes, you hoped Merric would fall. That he would die. You did not intend his death, but when you saw what you had done you hoped for it. Can you deny it?”

            He looked away. “No.”

            “Can you tell me why?”

            His mouth twisted as he looked at her, hate in his eyes. “Empty shoes to fill. How else would I get command back from your favourites?”

            _I am a lake._ “So. Do you still wish Sir Voelden to speak? He was on patrol at the time and can offer no direct evidence.”

            “He can tell you I’m none of yours. You have no right to judge me.”

            “You swore, Rogal, in full knowledge, so I have that right, and duty. But Sir Voelden may clarify your status in law, if he will. Sir Voelden?”

            He clomped to the terrace, bowing sharply to the griffins and standing squarely between them as he spoke clearly.

            “Rogal was employed by my late father, then Lord of Tirrsmont, as captain of a mercenary troop. He was paid. I do not know if he swore a liege-oath to my father. He swore none to me. His men left when the money stopped. I do not know why he stayed. I told him to go.”

            “Do you know of any reason he should not be subject to this enquiry or to a court martial?”

            “No.” Rogal groaned and Voelden shot him a look of hatred. “From the moment he chose to swear the oath you demanded, Commander, he has been under military jurisdiction, as Emerint and I are.”

            Rogal stood, angrily. “You’re not half the man your father was.”

            “And look where it got him. May I be excused, Commander?”

            “Two questions, Sir Voelden. Please speak as freely as truth allows, without fear or favour.”

            He nodded. “Ask them.”

            “Are you content this enquiry has been fair, and found the truth?”

            “Yes.” There was no hesitation. “You have been scrupulous. It’s awkward only because if I had inherited I could claim noble privilege on Rogal’s behalf, were I minded to. But I did not inherit, I have no privilege to claim, and if I had I would not extend it to him.”

            Rogal spat and Kel had his guards sit him in his chair. They weren’t gentle but under her eye weren’t needlessly rough either.

            “Rogal, if you spit again you will be gagged. My apologies, Sir Voelden. My other question was whether there is anything else you can tell me of Rogal? He claims no fief and has refused to give information about his life before coming to Tirrsmont.”

            “He’s been at Tirrsmont for two years—he came just after war started, when my father hired troops for defence, and has never to my knowledge called himself aught but Captain Rogal.”

            “You know nothing of how he made contact with your father?”

            “I do not. I was rarely at Tirrsmont before the war, and often in my cups.” His voice was unflinching. “My father and I spoke little and he was a close-mouthed man. Master Lasner might know more.”

            “Indeed. Thank you.”

            Voelden returned to his place and at Kel’s summons Lasner reluctantly came forward.

            “I don’t _know_ anything much, Lady Kel. I can only say what I _think_.”

            “Very well. What do you think, Master Lasner?”

            “His Lordship—His late Lordship—brought Captain Rogal and his men from Corus, the summer war started. He was in charge of the hired men but all they did was man gate and walls—they never went out after Scanrans but once, when there was a bunch running from defeat by the army. I _think_ he’s a southerner—he sent letters to Corus and a woman in Pearlmouth. And couriers brought sealed letters for him sometimes, but I don’t know anything about them. I didn’t have anything to do with the military—just the castle house.”

            “Very well. Thank you.” Watching him down the steps Kel thought about delaying but there was no point. “Rogal, you say I should have ordered mass fire from the alures. What would that have achieved?”

            He stared. “It’d kill Scanrans, of course. Are you stupid?”

            “The range was extreme.”

            “But griffin arrows fly true.”

            “Not beyond the limit of the bow.”

            “They were in range for a good archer. If you’d had the brains we could have killed a lot of them.” He was startled by the sour laugh from listening people. “Why are they laughing? It’s true.”

            “The prisoners over there are the only survivors. We massacred them. And without taking any deaths, which would not have been the case with arrows flying at extreme range at a milling cavalry fight.”

            He gaped. “I don’t believe you.”

            “Ask a griffin if I lie. I’ve heard enough. Stand him up.” She stood herself. “My judgement on Rogal in this commander’s enquiry is twofold. He is fined the cost of one griffin-fletched arrow, to be set against any wages owed and if necessary possessions, as set out in regulations. He is also committed for court martial on charges of acting against orders and striking his superior, and on capital charges of wilfully disobeying orders in action and causing the death of a knight of the realm, his superior officer. He will be held in solitary confinement on bread and water.” She eyed Rogal’s guards. “He will _not_ be taunted, abused, or harmed in any way, on your peril. Take him to the cell.”

            The crowd watched in silence as he was led away but as he vanished down the slope to the cave they stirred and Kel raised her voice. “Stay, please. There is more.” Surprised, they settled. “What happened was caused by stupidity and malice, but was in some measure an accident. There are lessons to learn and precautions to take. Those who have stations on the alures—how many are as tall or taller than Merric?”

            Slowly hands went up among the soldiers. Merric had been strong but not especially tall.

            “If he fell like that in half-armour so could you in breastplates and bascinets. His boots were worn smooth. How are yours? Sergeants, make sure boots are checked and repaired if necessary. And _everybody_ be careful up there—rails help but they’re not the safeguard I’d hoped.” She closed her eyes, marshalling thoughts. “So we’ll fix that. Master Geraint, I’d like spars ten foot below the alures, please—fifteen-foot spars every ten yards or so. Quenuresh and Aldoven, I’m sorry for your spinnerets but webs, please, to string from those spars. It can be a wide mesh—just strong enough that if anyone falls they’ve something to catch them short of the ground.”

            She waited a moment, absorbing pain.

            “The last thing is for officers of all ranks. Sir Merric made a mistake. It’s true we were facing the enemy, but one archer less on the eastern alure would have made no odds. They didn’t have to fire anyway and Merric knew they probably wouldn’t, so Rogal should have had one chance—anyone can be nervy with the enemy in sight, or make a suggestion—but when he was openly insubordinate he should have been dismissed from the alure, under escort if necessary. Allowed to remain, he festered and burst. The fault was his alone. The mistakes were not. The sorrow is everyone’s. Now—”

            Her homily was cut short by a sentry on the north tower roof. “Scanran horsemen to the north. Twenty plus. Two miles.”

            “Hold! Everyone stay where you are, until I know what this is.”

            The crowd below her was densely packed and she ran along the terrace to the shelf, then the alure. The horsemen were immediately visible on the eastern side of the valley, and must have come through the trees; the spidrens’ absence had cleared the way, and Kel realised the Scanrans must be puzzled by the lack of anyone in the fields in mid-afternoon. As she studied the group _she_ became increasingly puzzled—it lookedlike two officers with an escort, or an officer and a mage, but if so, where was the command? They were disputing among themselves, presumably about the absence of people, until the man she took to be the officer shrugged and spurred forward; the hooded man who might be a mage rode after, and recognition stirred. She couldn’t see his face but something was familiar. The escort surged after them and her mind whirled as she turned to the sea of faces staring up at her.

            “Alright, people, I don’t think this is a big problem but it’s odd and there may be more Scanrans than we can see, so the alarm is for a mid-size attack. Soldiers, get armed and armoured. Civilians with duty stations, to them.” Her eye picked out Tobe heading for headquarters and she raised her voice. “Tobe! Weiryn’s bow, please, as well as half-armour.” He raised a hand, never slowing, and she blessed him. “Immortals, as you will so long as you’re not in anyone’s way. Neal, Duke Baird, please come up here.”

            To her surprise neither griffins nor stormwings took off but other immortals did gather on the terrace with the griffins and Cloestra. Their business. Waiting for Neal and Baird she returned to studying the Scanrans, now about a mile from the glacis and coming on at a canter. The officer’s face bobbing in her spyglass was clean shaven and he was well-dressed, but she could make out no insignia and beside him the hooded man plucked memory. The troops looked a better trained lot than the last—hard-faced, bearded men in good mail keeping efficient formation. As Neal and Baird arrived she handed over the spyglass.

            “The hooded man in the van, beside the clean-shaven fellow. Something’s ringing a bell. Would you look please?”

            While Baird looked she fished her griffin-band from her pouch and put in on, but it revealed no illusions and she found she didn’t think the hooded man was a mage after all, though she wasn’t sure why.

            “I can’t see his face, Keladry, and nothing seems familiar.” Baird passed the spyglass, frowning. “What do you suppose they’re doing?”

            “I’ve no idea. Approaching like this makes no sense—it’s a scouting party taking advantage of deserted fields but why bother? Neal?”

            “I don’t know, Kel—I can’t see his face but … I hear a bell too. It’s the riding style—tilted forward. Someone we know rides like that.”

            “He doesn’t look as if he’s held prisoner.”

            “No. And the only Scanrans I know are here already.”

            Kel stood close to the parapet to let half-a-dozen men pass to the crenels beyond. “They’re slowing.”

            The horsemen pulled up perhaps four hundred yards out, and Kel could hear the leader calling something. She couldn’t make out words but it was plain he was telling the officer not to go closer. He dismounted and Kel saw him raise something to his eye in a familiar motion.

            “They’re surveying. I’m not having that if I can help it.” She spun, knowing Mikal would be on the gatehouse roof, and waved an arm but he was watching. Her voice lifted into battle mode. “Mikal, five squads to sally.” She spread fingers wide. “Five. Quick as you can.” He waved and vanished but it would take a while for men and horses to be readied.

            Tobe, in his jerkin, came carefully up the nearest stairway, breastplate in one hand and the great bow in the other with her archer’s glove; her bascinet was on his head, over his own, and she plucked it off, grinning as she took the breastplate and knelt to let him buckle it.

            “Neal, Baird, stay if you want but breastplates and helmets, please.”

            “I’ve spares, father—I’ll get them with mine.”

            Neal left and Baird looked at the bow where Tobe had propped it.

            “That’s the bow Lord Weiryn gave you, Keladry?”

            “It is, and it shoots long and _very_ true. And _this_ is when special arrows are worth chancing—exactly as Merric imagined. All done, Tobe?”

            “Yes, Ma. Can I stay?”

            “So long as they’re not firing.”

            Connac was duty sergeant for the alure, as he had been two days before, and was waiting. “Orders, Lady Kel?”

            “Not yet, Sergeant. The sally will drive them off but won’t pursue. We’re here in case covering fire is needed—ordinary arrows at maximum elevation. But if those two come any closer I might have a try with the godbow, and I’ll have a special arrow for that.”

            “Right you are, Lady Kel.”

            Merric’s keys were in her office but Connac had a set and unlocked the nearest box. Baird followed her, peering with interest.

            “These are what Rogal took?”

            “Yes. Most are griffin-fletched but these”—she took a couple of the ones she wanted, turning them to make sure they were true—“are griffin-and-stormwing. Magekillers. I don’t think that hooded fellow _is_ a mage but just in case …”

            He glanced through the crenel. “You can hit them from _here_?”

            “No. But if either comes fifty yards closer I might have a shot.”

            “The hooded fellow _is_ coming closer.”

            “He is?” She made her choice, restored the other to the case, and went to look. The hooded man was riding forward, ignoring shouts from the escort. His face remained invisible but the dark oval of his hood turned as he scanned the wall, and as she lodged the bow against her foot and strung it he came to her. She held the bow down so he wouldn’t see it and gazed back, willing him to come just a little closer; his horse was still moving forward though his head was no longer turning.

            Neal returned in breastplate and helmet, carrying others, and began to buckle his father’s. Lendor came up the stairway behind him and approached, saluting. “The sally squads are almost ready, Lady Kel. Captain Mikal asks if you’ve any special orders.”

            “Yes—drive them off but _don’t_ pursue.” She drew on her glove. “We don’t know what else is out there. I’m going to try the godbow—don’t sally before I shoot. And if I get lucky try to secure anyone injured—or dead, come to that. We might learn something.”

            “Sally after you shoot, don’t pursue, secure any dead or injured. Right, Lady Kel.”

            He’d glanced out as she spoke and she could see he didn’t think there was any hope of a hit, but who knew? Nor did disbelief stop his crisp recap and prompt departure, and her attention swung back to the hooded man, coming to another halt, still staring at her. He was at least sixty yards in front of the clean shaven man, maybe seventy, and that put him only a little further away than she’d managed with the bow in practice. Without looking away she spoke a prayer to Lord Weiryn, thanking him for the grace of his gift and asking her strength and skill be enough; she added a prayer to the Black God that Merric be allowed to witness her shot. She heard Neal, Baird, Tobe, and the nearest soldiers join her ‘So mote it be’, but voices were distant as she concentrated, absorbing distance.

            “Neal, I’m going to stand in the crenel. Hand on my belt please.”

            Carefully she levered herself up, bow at her side with the arrow in her ungloved hand. She straightened, moving into as broad a stance as the merlons allowed, and didn’t allow herself to think of the thirty-foot drop to the spikes of the killing field. Neal grasped her belt but her attention was narrowed to the dark oval staring back at her. Thoughts of the Black God drifted in her mind as the man raised a hand, finger extended in the old insult, and began to turn away. The bow was rising, arrow nocked, brindled steel of the cock fletching properly placed, and before the range could extend she swung up, let it drop fractionally into the aim as she reached maximum draw, and the bow sang a golden note as she let fly with a feeling of absolute rightness. The flight seemed endless but the trajectory perfect and the hooded man’s back squarely to her as he slammed forward, feet slipping from stirrups as his horse bolted. She heard Baird’s exclamation and cheers along the alure as she watched his body fall; distant gates creaked open for the sally but she was more conscious of the drop.

            “Neal, pull me back, please, slowly.” Her voice was husky but she felt him begin to pull, keeping her eyes on the fallen man and moving her front leg back until she felt the edge of the parapet. She held the bow high while she brought her other leg back too and stooped to brace and jump down with relief.

            “Thanks.”

            “The height?”

            “Just a touch.”

            “But only after it didn’t matter.” He laid an arm over her shoulders. “That was some shot, Kel. A thousand feet?”

            “About that. This bow makes it easy and I think Lord Weiryn helped. Did you hear it sing?”

            “I should think everyone heard it. You’d have to be deaf not to.” His head turned. “They’re running.”

            Refocusing, she saw the clean-shaven man was spurring back to his escort, who let him through and fell in behind. The hooded man lay face down, unmoving, his horse running flat out after its fellows.

            “Can you stop that horse, Tobe?”

            His face scrunched up and he shook his head. “Sorry, Ma—it’s too far when he’s that frightened.”

            “Not to fret. I wouldn’t have minded seeing in his saddlebags.”

            She heard hooves ring on the moatbridge and a few seconds later Mikal and his men came into view, checking as they saw the retreating enemy. Shouts from men on the north tower directed them and they cantered towards the fallen man. Kel turned away.

            “Sergeant Connac!”

            “My Lady?”

            “I think that’s it for today but keep the men at their stations until Mikal’s men are back.”

            “Of course, my Lady.”

            She quirked an eyebrow. “Where did Lady Kel go, Connac? Did I do something wrong?”

            He eyed her cautiously. “No, Lady Kel—quite the opposite. You just shot a man at impossible range, so I was feeling respectful.”

            “It’s the bow. Don’t get too respectful—it’ll only go to my head.”

            “Oh aye? We’ll watch for that then, my Lady, next blue moon.”

            She grinned at him. “Do that. Carry on.”

            “Where’ll you be, Lady Kel, if need arises?”

            “With the immortals.” She jerked a thumb at the terrace. “Then at the gatehouse as soon as Mikal brings that body in.”

            He saluted and went along the alure, speaking briefly to archers as he passed each pair. Automatically she set the bow to unstring it and Neal laid a hand on her arm.

            “Will you let father try, Kel? I told him how hard we found it.”

            “Surely.” She passed the bow to Baird and saw his struggle, though easy movement showed he knew what he was about.

            “I can’t begin to bend this thing, Keladry.”

            She set and easily bent it, slipping string from nock. “It must be godwork. It’s no problem to me. Come and make nice with immortals?”

            “If I must.”

            “I can deal with them.”

            “No, no—it’s just that having passed sixty I’m not used to feeling young and gawky any more.”

            She smiled. “That many centuries is intimidating, isn’t it? But you could try Junior—he’s younger than I am.”

            “Keladry, just now almost everyone’s younger than you are. Lead on.”

            Faintly indignant she did. Her main concern was to thank the griffins again and apologise for the disruption, but after listening to the adults Quenuresh turned with a light in her eyes.

            “They say you need not thank them, Lady Kel—they regard it as part of their job. Much as you rediscovered the stormwing custom of attending funerals of the righteous, you rediscover a griffin custom—sitting in courts. And they approve of that reversed question to Rogal. It was _efficient_ , he says, and they are happy to return for such an enquiry.” Her voice became dry. “They are also happy it has been a good experience for … Junior. He has learned what proximity to a mortal struggling to lie feels like. And they ask if they may hunt now.”

            “Of course. But we have fish and they’ve given up most of the day.”

            “No. He thanks you but says they know a good pool on the river. I think flight and the hunt are relaxing after lie-detecting.”

            Kel bowed deeply to the adults before squatting to scratch Junior’s head. He didn’t even try to bite, and after a moment all three launched themselves from the terrace, the downdraft redolent with flint and spices Kel couldn’t identify. She found Quenuresh looking at her.

            “You hit your mark, Protector? I heard the godbow sing.”

            “I did.”

            “At what range?”

            “Three-hundred-and-some yards. Call it a thousand feet.”

            Quenuresh pursed her lips and other immortals were interested, Whitelist asking to see the bow before passing it to an ogre. Kel meanwhile was talking to Aldoven about Scanrans.

            “They fled east and may bivouac in your territory. Be careful? If they’re there, shout. I’ll send reinforcements.”

            “Help from mortals against mortals? Wonders never cease with you, Protector.”

            “We have a treaty. I won’t stint on it. You came today when you needn’t have. And yesterday. Your credit’s good.”

            “Both days have been informative, Protector, and impressive. I have never heard of anyone favoured both by the Black God and griffins. But if the fields are clear we will go. We have webs to spin besides those for your alures.”

            “Thank you.”

            Quenuresh and kin opted to go too and Kel watched them down the roadway, seeing Mikal’s men saluting as they passed. Baird and Neal joined her, with Yuki holding her daughter.

            “Waiting on a corpse, Kel? There was _something_ about the man …”

            “I think you were right about riding style but I can’t pin it.”

            “You pinned him alright.”

            She punched his arm and they waited together as Mikal came up to them, the hooded body slung awkwardly across his horse.

            Conscious of Neal following Kel walked to where the hooded head hung, the broken shaft of her arrow projecting from the neck, and grasping it lifted, snapping her wrist to flip the hood back. She heard Neal’s indrawn breath and the world contracted to a pinpoint filled with the familiar, nightmare features of Vinson of Genlith.


	17. Business

**Part V – Lughnasa** d

_July – September 462 HE_

  

* * *

 

**Chapter Seventeen — Business**

_1–6 July_

 

Kel’s stint as District Commander had been quiet everywhere save New Hope. She was relieved all the same when the party from Trebond were at last spotted coming down valley, a day later than looked for, but it wasn’t eagerness for relief that drove her to meet them south of the fin. Behind the point squad Wyldon, Alanna, and Raoul rode side-by-side, and trailing them Numair and Daine, a baby slung on her chest.

            “Kel!” Alanna’s smile faded as she took in Kel’s grimness. “Uh-oh—what’s up?”

            “Several things, I’m afraid, and one that matters now. I’m sorry to greet you with a problem but there’s reason.” She explained what had happened to Merric and saw faces darken. Wyldon’s lips compressed and Alanna gave some choice curses. “Yes, all of that. Vanget’s not here because he waited on Commander Svein from Eastwatch and two of his company seconds. He’s also bringing one of his own captains—all three having no relation to Tirrsmont. We can’t find people who don’t know about what happened to him—everyone’s _supposed_ to know—but we can try to be impartial. Vanget mentioned a company second in charge of your escort and a senior sergeant who qualify?”

            Wyldon nodded heavily. “Arres of Rosemark and Sergeant Viller. He has more than ten years’ seniority so he’s in the court martial pool. And I can’t recall that either has any relevant ties of blood or marriage.”

            “Then that’s our five. The problem is they shouldn’t talk to any of my people before they hear witnesses—people know what outcome they want. I’ve had beds made up in a barn. Could one of you tell them, please, with my apologies for indignity and discomfort, but we’re very full.”

            “I will.” Raoul frowned. “When do you propose to hold the court martial, Kel?”

            “Properly that’s Wyldon’s decision but I want it as soon as Vanget and his party get here, as does he. They should arrive tonight, so tomorrow, in parallel with the conference, unless you feel you should attend.”

            “Not sure, Kel, but there’s time to think about that. I’ll tell Arres and Sergeant Viller, then you can show me this marvel fort of yours.”

            “Alright.” Raoul turned his horse and Kel looked at Alanna. “Let me say hello to Daine and Numair, and young Sarralyn. Is she still shapeshifting all the time?”

            “No, gods be thanked. Literally. The Green Lady put a stop to it by grandmotherly command.”

            Kel blinked. “They came, then?”

            “Oh yes—antlers and all. It was impressive.”

            “It was extraordinary. He told me of his hounds.” Wyldon shook his head. “Sarralyn’s shapeshifting was bizarre but as a human she seems a sweet child, though her eyes are not an infant’s.”

            Kel found she agreed. Sarralyn’s deep brown eyes had a knowing look that made her think of Irnai and Tobe’s old-man expression, though her smiles were adorable. She was desperately sorry the shadow of Merric’s death should attend her first meeting with the babe but Daine’s and Numair’s mingled pride and relief, shot through with joy, was a tonic despite their sorrow for Merric. She rode with them, letting the commanders ponder whether they should observe the court martial, and heard a funny account of the naming ceremony and the happiness of Daine’s parents in their grandchild. A startling thought intruded.

            “Um, do you know if she’s inherited your Gift as well as Daine’s wild magic, Numair?”

            “She has, Kel. Strongly.”

            “Oh. Right. And, um, what can a blackrobe shapeshifter do?”

            “No idea, except shift a _lot_. There’s never been one we know of.”

            “Oh.” Kel contemplated a riverhorse that could turn you into a tree and wished she hadn’t. “That’s going to be … an adventure.”

            “So we anticipate.” Daine’s eyes twinkled. “I’m hoping we can make it very _large_ animals rather than ones that are _really_ absent-minded.”

            “Magelet!”

            Kel welcomed the humour—there’d been little enough of late—but was reminded. “I’m afraid I got you into trouble with Vanget, Numair, when he saw my opal. His immediate thought was it made little mirrors for patrols possible, using the Crown’s Dunlath stock.”

            Numair grinned. “Don’t fret, Kel—he’s already caught up with me about that. I knew he would but I needed time to make the mirrorspell easier, which I have, and refine the opal spell. Harailt now does them, and mages at the City of the Gods should be able to learn. Vanget’ll get his mirrors and opals, though not as many as he’d like. I’ll do you some too, and that Steadfast link.” His smile was wry. “All I have to do now is double the range so everywhere can link with Corus.”

            “Ask Diamondflame next Midwinter. Or via Quenuresh—she speaks across three realms.” Numair blinked. “Where’s Kit, by the way?”

            “Back in Corus pestering Kawit, almost certainly.” Daine sounded resigned. “Among the dragonspells Diamondflame taught her when he visited was the basic flame spell, but he did have the sense to make her promise she wouldn’t practice without Kawit’s supervision.”

            “Oh glory. Has she set fire to anything she shouldn’t?”

            “Only a rug.” Daine was a little too offhand.

            “Um, was anyone standing on it at the time?”

            The grin was urchin. “Duke Gary, being pompous even for him. Kit thought the rug was really ugly and I can’t fault her for that.”

            “Nor for her sense of timing, eh?”

            “Exactly. I told you she’d understand, Numair.”

            “It was a rather valuable old rug, Magelet.”

            “It had wyverns on it, in nasty colours. I gave him a new one.”

            “You gave him a sixteen-foot bearskin he doesn’t dare walk on that makes him sneeze.”

            “That’s only because it keeps itself clean, Numair. If his office wasn’t so dusty to begin with he wouldn’t have a problem.”

            “A _sixteen_ -foot bearskin … um, I thought you didn’t approve of animal-skin rugs?”

            Daine nodded. “I don’t as a rule, but Da has a running competition with the bear god, pelt against antlers. Whoever loses gets reborn immediately, and Da’s won the last two times and had no use for another pelt so he gave it to me.”

            Kel stared. Gods killed one another for fun? “You’re joking.”

            “Not at all. Seems to keep them both happy. And it’s a _much_ more valuable rug than that horrid wyverny thing so Gary can’t complain.”

            “Oh can’t he?” Numair’s voice was a pained mutter. “He just doesn’t dare complain to _you_ , Magelet.”

            They came up to the others, who’d stopped on the limestone bridge while Raoul and the point squad stared at New Hope.

            “Kel, that’s astonishing. Magnificent. Descriptions don’t do justice.”

            Kel smiled, pleased to impress but still thinking about a bearskin rug of that size and the bear it had come from. “It keeps Scanrans out, so far. But none of you have seen what we’ve done with the corral, and there’s someone you should meet, Raoul. We’ll detour.”

            Their escort went on to New Hope with Daine and Numair and the packhorses, Arres and Sergeant Viller promising to report to Brodhelm alone, and Kel’s guards took over as she led them round the fin. The moat wasn’t filled, so the vicious spikes were visible, drawing Alanna’s and Raoul’s whistles, and though the drawbridge wasn’t articulated it was in place, allowing them to ride through the almost completed gatehouse to the killing field. Kel quietly asked one of the building team to warn Dom, working in the stableblock, and turned to Raoul.

            “It’s going to be our sally port, in effect, so I need someone I can trust in charge here, and I’ve appointed a captain of the corral, using commander’s authority to override a fitness issue. Vanget agreed, so it’s all proper, and I think you’ll remember him. This way.”

            She led them through to the main space, sending Raoul on to the stables because she thought Dom would prefer to be alone for this. Wyldon and Alanna were staring at the Mindelan owl and her crossed glaives, gleaming in the afternoon light, and raised eyebrows in unison.

            “It looks as if you came to a decision, Keladry.”

            Kel flushed but didn’t deny it. “It was made for me, Wyldon—Tobe and St’aara created that for my birthday and the first I saw it was already up there. But yes, if I live through this I’ll apply for the fief—it really does seem to be what everyone wants.”

            “Good for you, Kel.” Alanna clapped her on the shoulder. “Of course it’s what people want—they’re not stupid. Now, who’s this captain of the corral of yours that Raoul knows?”

            “Domitan of Masbolle. You know he was invalided out of the Third last year? He was fretting at home in bad spirits, so he turned up here looking for something to do. He’s halt so field combat’s an issue, but for this he’s perfect. The only adjustment is ramps rather than stairs to the alure, and Geraint thinks they’re faster anyway. And I’ve been meaning to say, Wyldon, we should be more flexible about wounded veterans. There are plenty who could do more than we have them doing.”

            “That’s a thought. And I can see why you wanted a veteran for this job—a cool head and experienced eye. Is that really a drawbridge?”

            “Yes, with a petrified portcullis as counterweight. Dom’s idea. We only have to finish the chains and we can articulate, probably before you go. And just wait till you see the bridge in the tunnel.”

            That was the last stop on the tour she gave Raoul as the sun westered, Wyldon and Alanna tagging along to see improvements and seeming to get on better than Kel had ever known. Raoul had been delighted to see Dom, and relieved, thanking her quietly but intensely as they walked the eastern alure.

            “I was worried about him, Kel, but the healers shipped him south and all I got was a note saying he was sorry to let me down. Idiot.”

            “Huh. I got five lines assuring me he was fine, which didn’t. But he pulled himself together. And gods know I’m glad to have him—I thought I’d have to appoint poor Merric, but he wasn’t right for it.”

            “No. Five lines, eh? You were honoured.”

            “Hardly. I’d sent a hundred. Come and meet Cloestra. Her egg should hatch next month. Ever seen a baby stormwing?”

            “Gods, no. What a thought.”

            “I’ll let you know—I confess I’m intrigued. Numair says he can set up a New Hope–Steadfast spellmirror, if you don’t mind—it’d be nice to be able to talk.”

            Cloestra was in good form, slyly impressing by adding a scouting report from her morning’s flying exercise as well as showing off her egg, which had acquired an odd lustre as it incubated. The lookout post was also impressive, revealing Vanget’s party just coming into view a good nine miles north, and Kel swiftly led on to the tunnel. The completed bridge, which Geraint demonstrated as they stood in the wide aperture on the further side, had all the effect she’d hoped for.

            “The arrowloops are for guards with crossbows, so I think our back door’s got a decent lock.”

            “Goddess, yes. No-one’s getting over this hole in a hurry even if they’re not under fire.”

            “I agree, Keladry—this is first-rate in every way. And that’s an excellent design indeed, Master Geraint.” Hauling counterweights with help from two soldiers he nodded. “Could it be used elsewhere?”

            The bridge was pushed back and seated, allowing them to recross.

            “Thank you, my Lord. I don’t see why not, if there’s a sufficient drop for counterweights. You need basilisk help—or a metal span, maybe. Did you have somewhere in mind?”

            “A ravine west of Mastiff—I’ve not had it bridged because it’s a natural defence, but it’d be useful to be able to do so at will. It’s about fifty feet across.”

            “I’ll have a word with Var’istaan and take a look when we come back west, my Lord.”

            “Thank you.”

            Once they were back on the main level in fading light Kel showed them to guest rooms, left copies of the enquiry record, and rode out to meet Vanget. Svein of Hannalof, commanding at Eastwatch where the borders bent round low hills separating tributaries of the Vassa and Drell, was an older cousin of Ortien and Uline with the same tumbling black hair, but having missed Orie’s wedding Kel had never met him and they greeted one another with mutual caution and interest. The officers he and Vanget had brought for the court martial kept their distance, as did Vanget’s staffers, but none could stop themselves gaping at the glacis and skulls. On the way up the roadway Vanget came alongside her.

            “You didn’t tell the others about Vinson or the prisoners?”

            “You asked me not to.”

            “Good. The prisoners will be a nice surprise but Vinson is another story. I’m thinking about what you said, but keep quiet for now, please, Kel. I _really_ don’t like the implications. Nor will the Lioness and she’ll likely rant a while—she’s distracted anyway—but I want to deal with the military picture before we go there.”

            “Of course. Is Alanna distracted because …?”

            “Yes, she found out. The King let it slip. She wasn’t happy and there’s _still_ no news, though George says he has a lead. Didn’t say what.”

            If the Baron hadn’t Kel wouldn’t either. Once they’d passed the gate she welcomed all to New Hope. Brodhelm took charge of officers, Mikal of staffers and escort, and Kel showed Vanget and Svein to guest rooms. She ate with all her ranking guests, and after a dinner in which the goddess’s blessings seemed to be holding up, though Kel couldn’t help thinking of Rogal’s fare and the officers excluded from the lively chatter of the messhall, she invited them to her quarters, dragging Raoul away from smiling examination of godlit panels, and Alanna from Neal’s and Yuki’s still nameless daughter. Daine and Numair opted for an early night as Sarralyn wouldn’t let them sleep through it, and Tobe helped her serve tea before withdrawing.

            Once she was settled Wyldon cleared his throat. “I’ve had a chance to read the record of Keladry’s enquiry, Vanget, and you’re not going to like this but I feel you and I at least should observe the court martial.” He was apologetic but Kel could tell his mind was made up. “I agree Rogal’s under army jurisdiction, but we’d both have to confirm a capital sentence and while we couldn’t be expected to attend if we weren’t already here, it’d look odd _not_ to observe as we are.”

            Vanget grunted. “Odd to whom?”

            “Anyone who asks—and if it comes to it, which I think it will, a New Hope execution of a former Tirrsmont mercenary for killing a knight is going to be scrutinised. All else aside, on your past form I’m the one who’ll have to give an account to the Council.” He turned to Kel. “My congratulations on how you handled it, Keladry—it’s unorthodox with the griffins, and that they think it customary to attend trials and enquiries needs serious thought. But this record is scrupulous and leaves no doubt what happened. Sir Voelden’s statement is helpful too, though Master Lasner’s raises questions.”

            “Rogal’s correspondence, you mean?”

            “Yes, and where Sir Arnolf got him. I wonder if he’ll say anything this time round. But whatever he says I should hear myself.”

            Vanget was reluctant but couldn’t argue. “Alright Wyldon—I bet myself you’d feel like that. But we do it with all speed—there are things we need to be discussing. And we can start now with something Kel’s managed in your collective absence that deserves warm congratulations, poor Sir Merric notwithstanding, then hard thinking. Tell them about your victory and prisoners, Kel.”

            Put on the spot Kel had no choice and though she tried to run through the battle flatly it was hopeless. Raoul, Alanna, and Wyldon all had probing questions, and if Svein was quiet at first that didn’t last as the action unfolded. When events had been pulled apart in every direction Alanna gave her a long look.

            “So what were the final casualty numbers, Kel?”

            “There were one-hundred-and-eighty-six of them. I’ve got three seriously injured, who’ll recover in time, and nine back on duty, plus twenty-three uninjured Scanrans prisoners, who’ve given oaths. The rest were killed outright, most by griffin arrows.”

            “One hundred and fifty-five dead?” Svein’s voice was shocked.

            “Stormwings piled them, recovering arrows, and we burned them.”

            As she’d hoped stormwings distracted them but Raoul wasn’t fooled.

            “Allowing for Rathhausak that’s your first real victory in open combat, Kel, and your casualty ratio is again astonishing. Unbelievable, in fact, except it happened. That battle should have a name.”

            “Should it?” She didn’t think she liked the idea but with the efficacy of the arrows and Merric’s death it probably would need to be referred to. “Who decides things like that?”

            Wyldon smiled austerely. “The victors, Keladry. And Goldenlake’s right—combined forces of three hundred men might be only a skirmish but you made it a battle and won superbly. Tactics _and_ discipline. Slaughter’s always ugly, but as a field commander it’s what you have to _want_ , and scheme for, however rarely you get it. Your archers must be tough and your drills exemplary if they can stand their ground and maintain that accuracy against charging cavalry.”

            “Griffin arrows don’t miss at under a hundred yards, Wyldon, not with people coming straight at you, and they all saw their first shots go home. It was like scything wheat.”

            “Heh. There’s your name, Kel—the Battle of Scything Wheat.” Alanna grinned, then shrugged. “Unless you want to commemorate Merric. I’m more interested in the prisoners—Scanrans surrendering in numbers is new. Have you interrogated them?”

            “Zerhalm and Irnai talked to them and we’ve got their stories. Their leader was Maggur’s man, a hard one, they say, for all he was an idiot tactically, but they’re all either conscripts at spear-point or under orders from clanchiefs Maggur’s coercing with hostages.”

            “And they’ve kept their oaths?”

            “So far.” Kel hesitated. “I’m minded to say I’ll keep them, if you’re happy with that, and let them work off some of the damage their fellows have done, but I’m doubtful about having them loose during an attack and nowhere to secure that many. That’s why I took oaths.”

            “And because you’re you, Kel. Dogs, children, Scanrans …” She stuck our her tongue and Raoul laughed. “You want to recruit them, don’t you?”

            “Not exactly. They won’t fight against their own clanchiefs, and the civilians have been conscripted too often already. But I did think we might let them be _un_ -conscripted. Stanar, their unofficial spokesman, fought _against_ Maggur at Somalkt, and said they’d heard about Rathhausak and Freja Haraldsdottir and her son, so I think they might accept non-military work. And where would we put them otherwise?”

            Vanget nodded. “I’ll go with that, Kel, unless the King objects, and as you’ll hear tomorrow—no, day after—Svein has other news to consider. But they need to be questioned. Who knows what they know? I’ve a staffer whose Scanran is fluent.”

            “Make sure he tries courtesy first? Threats or bluster won’t get him anywhere—these men aren’t cowards, they were just in an impossible situation—but they know we have to ask questions and if he _lets_ them tell their stories …”

            “Yes, alright. Would Zerhalm sit in?”

            “If we ask. He’s been worried about what will happen.”

            “Then we’ll do that. But the important thing is the object lesson in what griffin arrows can do if you keep your nerve and your archers are properly drilled.”

            “Yes indeed.” Svein nodded sharply. “I’ve never heard of such arrows used in volley fire—only as individual longshots. It’s a startling innovation, and deadly.”

            “Exactly. Kel, will you rewrite your report on, what was it? Scything Wheat as a purely tactical account. Include a plan, and notes on how you’ve made or traded for these arrows, and how you’ve trained archers. I agree any sensible field commander wouldn’t have charged straight in without scouting much more carefully to see what you had, but he did, and you did, and that was that.” Vanget shook his head. “Astonishing. It’s one for the history books and I want you all to see what you can do to get griffin feathers and how your training measures up to Kel’s. Think about the way those irregular Scanran units feint to harass us when we’re in line against ’em—we’ve always ignored ’em unless they come closer than fifty yards, but wouldn’t you like to answer ’em?” He smiled wryly at Kel. “I told you we were all scrambling to keep up, didn’t I? Now it’s offence as well as defence and immortals’ treaties!”

            “Oh pish, Vanget.” Kel didn’t feel the embarrassment she expected and saw others glance surprise, though whether she was inured to it or just less susceptible to Vanget than Wyldon, Raoul, or Alanna she wasn’t sure. “I had a bounty of griffin feathers to play with and centaur fletchers. But there’s no reason we can’t ask griffins for moults, gods know there’s enough centaurs who fletch, and after that it’s just drill.”

            “And the guts to stand, Kel.” Raoul was serious. “Those men must trust you completely, and that doesn’t come easy.”

            “Pish to you too, Raoul—where d’you suppose I learned that? _I_ think the interesting thing’s the stormwings, and besides the consideration that stormwing-fletched arrows are useful too I have ideas about that. How would you feel about stormwing auxiliaries?”

            Stormwings were proving extremely useful, Kel thought, when she pushed them off to their rooms considerably later, and she’d meant what she said about being intrigued by Cloestra’s egg. How did mothers keep hatchlings clean? And if they didn’t, what would happen if someone did? In a strange way, despite Neal’s and Yuki’s baby and Sarralyn and all her nieces and nephews, Cloestra’s maternity had made her want a child of her own more acutely. Not while war lasted, but nevertheless. Undressing for bed and staring at herself in the mirror, she put a hand on her stomach, trying to imagine, and the other on her restored breast, feeling it move as she snorted remembering Daine’s expression when she’d asked about nursing problems. How would Tobe feel if she became pregnant? And how much would it matter to him if she wasn’t married?

            The thought startled and stayed in her mind as she lay in bed. When had she started to entertain it? Her memory drifted to the King mentioning heirs and assigns, and traced her slow acceptance of the idea of remaining at New Hope so long as she and it survived; making it her home as well as trying to make it everyone else’s. Bringing up Tobe and Irnai here, with basilisk, ogre, and spidren playmates as well as mortal ones. She pulled herself back from imagining a cross-species university to take over where St’aara’s schoolhouse left off with the thought that if she were to embrace a natural son she’d first have to embrace a man and that was as improbable as ever, however Dom made her heart beat and thoughts of his hands filled her with a melting sensation. Sighing she turned on her side and willed herself to sleep.

 

* * * * *

 

Next morning Kel saw the court martial established on the terrace before the shrines, Alanna, Raoul, and Svein reluctantly joining Wyldon and Vanget as mute observers. Gydo and other children were charged with refreshments and carrying messages, and Kel left them to it with a clear conscience. In brisk mode she set Numair consulting with Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Petrin about the steps up the fin; persuaded a laughing Daine that St’aara’s classes with young immortals would hold Sarralyn for an hour; and dragged the Wildmage to see Butter. Conscientiously ruthless, she overrode Dom’s embarrassment, bluntly explaining the problem, inviting Peachblossom’s and Alder’s accounts, and boosting him onto Butter’s back to demonstrate. Daine nodded.

            “Can do.” She looked at Dom. “Do you want him smarter generally, like Alder, or just to understand your injury in terms of leg pressure and movement commands?”

            Dom swallowed. “I have enough trouble keeping up anyway, Godborn. But if he could understand commands despite lopsided pressure …”

            “Alright.”

            Daine drew Butter’s head down until her forehead rested on his muzzle. After a moment she had Dom demonstrate grip with his bad leg, and commands he wanted to use; after long minutes she straightened, patting Butter’s jaw.

            “It’ll need practice, Dom, but he has the idea, and I’m here for some days so I can talk to him again if necessary.”

            He flushed. “Thank you, Godborn. I can’t …”

            “Don’t worry about it. I remember you in the Own, I know how much you helped Kel, and I’ll do most anything for her. Just remember Butter’s pushed beyond what should be his limits.”

            “I know that feeling, Godborn. I’ll remember.”

            “It’s just Daine. Kel, can we get Sarralyn and go see Quenuresh now? And Barzha? I want her to get used to all kinds of immortals.”

            The morning and lunchtime that followed were educational, not only for Sarralyn. Both Quenuresh and a surprisingly clean Barzha clearly had soft spots for the babe, and Sarralyn was equally entranced, gurgling and waving chubby hands as she was inspected lying on a blanket; if Kel even now felt it odd to see steel teeth in smiling mouths clucking over a six-week infant, it didn’t stop her taking the chance to broach with Barzha the topic of stormwing feeding. As she had suspected, children’s simpler emotions were very attractive though not nutritious—more an aroma than a meal; fear, apprehension, and the violent experiences of combat were richest, and circling above the Battle of Scything Wheat—a name that amused both immortals—had indeed been a feeding pattern, but any activity generating real fears might serve. Kel mentioned possibilities, asked a surprised Barzha to consider longer-term residence at New Hope, and brought up stormwings’ attendance at funerals, requesting Daine to relay Barzha’s account of the custom to the King. She asked if there were other lapsed immortal customs.

            “Not for spidrens.” Quenuresh sounded rueful. “But then we have never had much friendly interaction with mortals at all.”

            “Nor stormwings.” Barzha looked thoughtful. “But you know of our effect on mortals when we mass. If you think that might serve at some juncture, ask. I make no promises.”

            “Mmm. Thank you. I’ll think about that.” Wilfully terrorising people wasn’t an ambition unless they were the enemy, but no resource could be ignored so Kel continued talking to Barzha while Daine fed Sarralyn—much to the fascination of little spidrens who’d been peeking from the wood eaves and came forward at Quenuresh’s resigned invitation. After Sarralyn’s nap she and Daine headed back up valley in search of centaurs, but Kel had to leave Daine to it when a guard came to tell her the court martial requested her presence.

            She arrived to see Rogal with a satisfied look and everyone tense. Her heart sank. Hiram of Blue Harbour, captain of Northwatch Third Company, was senior officer of the panel and greeted her.

            “Lady Knight Commander, we have heard all witnesses, tested by truthspell, and have unanimously convicted Rogal, formerly of Tirrsmont, on all charges. The only possible sentence for wilful disobedience in the face of the enemy, and causing Sir Merric to fall, is death, and that we imposed—but after we did so Rogal declared himself a liegeman of Lord Carolan of Runnerspring, and his claim is confirmed by truthspell. I am advised by my Lord of Cavall, under whose authority we sit, that our proper action is to retain him in custody and remit to you our verdict and sentence, with his claim made after sentence was passed.”

            _I am a lake._ “You are telling me Rogal was oathsworn to the Lord of Runnerspring as well as to obedience here when he culpably pushed Sir Merric to his death?”

            “Exactly so.”

            “Does Rogal claim assault on Sir Merric as duty to Runnerspring?”

            “He does not. We asked him specifically on that point—he claims only that he is another’s liegeman, and as such contends he is subject neither to your authority nor this court’s. We disagree and consider our verdict and sentence lawful, but append his claim as you were unaware of it during the Commander’s enquiry that brought charges.”

            “I see. Thank you, Captain Hiram.” She saw Wyldon about to speak and held up a hand. “Perhaps you would excuse me a moment, my Lord.”

            The shrines offered no privacy today, and Cloestra occupied the other end of the terrace, so Kel went to where the spring bubbled into the cistern, letting the sound clear her mind. Rogal’s claim was last ditch, plainly, but true. What that truth meant was another matter, though—having failed to make any claim of extended noble privilege despite having been asked repeatedly weighed against him, but more importantly he had made the claim only after being convicted—and the rules were clear about that. If he’d made it straight away she could still have preferred capital charges but the case would have gone straight to the King; as he hadn’t, even Runnerspring in person could only ask her to pardon Rogal, not assert privilege. In effect the whole decision was thrown back on her: both Rogal’s execution and, if Runnerspring extended privilege, his release would be lawful outcomes. Merric’s ghost rose in her mind’s eye, with the effects of either decision on New Hope; there was also the intriguing, legally irrelevant question of why a liegeman of Runnerspring’s had been under arms at Tirrsmont; most critically, there was the principle embodied in the oath Rogal had sworn to secure admission to New Hope and the need for it to be enforceable. She hardened her heart and went back to the court martial.

            “Captain Hiram, may I ask Rogal a question?”

            “Of course.”

            “Rogal of Runnerspring, will you explain why you, a liegeman of a lord whose domain is a month’s ride from here, were present at Tirrsmont, and why you did not claim this allegiance before?”

            “It’s my Lord’s business, not yours.”

            “On the contrary. By delaying your claim until after the court martial’s verdict you set aside any issue of noble privilege. Understand clearly—I can enforce the capital sentence of this court, or release you. And I will hear your claim for release only if it includes a full statement of what you were doing at Tirrsmont and why you came here.”

            He stared. “You’re mad—I’m my Lord’s man. You can’t touch me.”

            “Wrong again. Last chance.”

            “Don’t be stupid, woman—I’m privileged from this army nonsense.”

            “No, you aren’t. You swore to harm none at New Hope, you broke your oath, killing a far better man than yourself in malice and stupidity, and to me that’s all that matters. Captain Hiram, I decline to grant Rogal any remission of sentence on the basis of his oath to Runnerspring. If Lord Carolan were to ask me to respect noble privilege on Rogal’s behalf I should refuse, as would be my right, and the court found him guilty as lawfully charged and passed capital sentence. I see no purpose in delay.”

            He nodded slowly. “Very well, Lady Knight Commander.”

            The rest of the proceedings were grim, and Rogal had to be gagged before Hiram could confirm verdict and sentence, and remit the prisoner to New Hope’s custody pending execution. Once Rogal had been frogmarched away, Vanget and Wyldon came up to Kel.

            “You’re sure?” Vanget was blunt. “It’s an unholy complication.”

            “Do you have any doubt I’m acting legally, Vanget?”

            “None. Even if he’d claimed privilege at your enquiry the oath he swore to you would hold up. And not claiming privilege until after the verdict was stupid in the extreme, if he could have done so to begin with. But Runnerspring will be furious, and protest execution violently.”

            “So? He hates me already. I’ll make sure he’s sent a copy of the full record—my Lord and Lady of Hollyrose too. I promised to let them know the result of the court martial. Let Runnerspring explain why his man’s actions should have been forgiven. I’m not going to explain why they were when they needn’t have been.”

            “You’re clear in your mind, Keladry? There will be a fuss.”

            “I am, Wyldon. Bluntly, my judgement is that unless I uphold the validity of the oath Rogal swore when he sought admission here I’d cause a far bigger problem than Runnerspring, not only for myself. If I pardon Rogal what’s to stop anyone who was once a liegeman and has sworn the army oath claiming exemption from the consequences of breaking it?”

            Vanget grunted. “I asked myself that. Give way once and we’d have to check every time with lords all over the country. Wyldon?”

            “Yes. I don’t like any of it—what _was_ Runnerspring’s man doing at Tirrsmont? It makes no sense—but Keladry’s right. Rogal was under authority, wilfully killed Sir Merric, has been fairly tried and sentenced, and ought to pay. The proceedings have been clear, consistent, and open, the claim of privilege is irrelevant, and when that death sentence comes to me I shall endorse it and pass it to you.”

            “And I’m not commuting it, so there we are. Gods, what a mess. The King has to be informed but I doubt he’ll interfere. Do you _have_ a headsman, Kel?”

            “No, but I shall appoint one under Wartime Regulation 119.”

            Both men’s eyes lost focus, and they grunted simultaneously.

            “Yes, that’s proper, Keladry.” Wyldon sighed. “Do you know who?”

            “Me. _Shall appoint themselves or whoever better fitted they may select_ , it says, and there’s no-one better fitted. Don’t protest, please. I’m not going to order anyone to do what I won’t myself, I’ve prayed to the Black God about it, and my mind’s made up.” Wyldon looked thunderous and Kel considered him with distant affection. “Don’t worry, Wyldon—it’s proper, and my conscience can bear it.”

            They did protest, as did Raoul and Alanna. To Kel’s surprise Svein strongly approved, commending her courage, and to the others she was adamant, despite her clenching stomach at the thought of what she was letting herself in for. For all the executions she’d seen, in Yaman and with the Own, she’d never found one less than hateful, but did believe some crimes warranted death, including Rogal’s, and the rest followed inexorably. She supposed when New Hope became a fief it would need a Provost and Dogs, and with them would come a headsman, but until then responsibility was hers alone. Raoul knew how she felt about executions and was especially concerned, advancing arguments even he knew held no water, but in the end subsided, still muttering. Alanna, interestingly, gave up arguing sooner, and seemed resigned.

            Given the previous night’s conversation Kel had rearranged the practice schedule, and was able to restore a more cheerful feel to things by taking them to observe. She and Brodhelm had pushed hard on accuracy at middle distance, and when people were at their weapon’s limit allowed practice shots with a griffin arrow so they _knew_ how much it improved their aim. They had also assiduously practiced firing by ranks as well as alternating fire from the crenels, and the squads who’d been at Scything Wheat, ordered in a treble rank, were able, in less than fifteen seconds, to put one hundred griffin arrows into a score of bulls stretched across the barracks nearly one-hundred-and-fifty yards away. She’d had the targets thickened with old straw and only a few arrows were damaged.

            “I wouldn’t vouch for accuracy if cavalry were traversing at that range—but if they’re coming head on it’s just elevation.”

            Svein was thoughtful. “It’s practice with griffin arrows that impresses me, Keladry—I’ve never had more than few available, but I can see how much it matters.”

            “It does. I’m already buying all our centaurs can make, and we’re manufacturing our own with moulted feathers the griffins bring. You can get two arrows from each feather if you’re careful, and I can let each of you have a dozen as a start if you’ve a fletcher who knows what to do. We have some stormwing retrices too, but those are tricky.”

            “What cuts them, Kel?” Alanna was genuinely curious.

            “Basilisk obsidian, but I can’t manage it on my own yet—you need someone to hold the feather down against its natural spring. And carefully—the barbs will slice anything.”

            “You fletch?”

            “I learned as a child in Yaman and took it up again when I got that sack of feathers for looking after Junior.”

            “I’d forgotten that.” Raoul scratched his head. “I’ve a good fletcher at Steadfast but no griffins. A dozen feathers is a generous offer and I’ll take it, but we’re talking about hundreds. Any ideas?”

            “Daine and the King. If the griffins near Corus are invited to attend courts there … well, Daine says they don’t care about moulted feathers, any more than horses about hair they shed, so a deal should be possible. Enough for a few hundred arrows for each major fort—and if the custom gets established more each season.”

            The demonstration and hope made everyone brighter despite the shadow of the day, and the meal was easier than Kel had feared. She invited Hiram and officers who’d sat with him, now moved to proper barracks accommodation, to dine with the commanders, and afterwards made the announcement everyone was expecting. The fact of execution, and a date the following week, were received with grim approval, as she’d known they would be; the reaction to her self-appointment as headsman worried her more, but in the event surprised her. It was Uinse who stood to ask, obviously thinking it might be his duty to find one, and when she told him what she proposed his face went still before he bowed, profoundly—at which every adult had risen to do the same. When she sat Wyldon considered her with that odd look.

            “You do know your people, don’t you, Keladry? And they know you.”

            She wasn’t sure what he meant but he wouldn’t elaborate, and refused her general invitation to come back to her quarters, pleading paperwork, as did Vanget. Alanna went to see Neal and Yuki—or the baby—and Raoul wanted a chat with Daine, so Kel wound up giving Svein the tour she’d not been able to give him when he’d arrived. It was the first time she’d done it by night, moonlight silvering spikes in the killing field and etching shadows across the main level. The view from the lookout post was breathtaking, and though rockfalls were now covered in a fast-growing weed Adner had recommended with distaste they stood out from this angle and distance.

            “It’s a remarkable place, Keladry. I’ll be frank—I was as pleased as anyone by news of Rathhausak but thought it a fluke. But what I see, and Scything Wheat, tells another story.” He gave a crooked smile that made his face charming. “Uline told me you were good people and so far as she could tell a real commander, but Ortien was more worried about nobles who oppose you until last Midwinter, when he changed his tune.”

            “You’re close to them?”

            “More to Uline. I’m a decade older but spent summers as a boy looking after them, and in Corus I’ve stayed with Ortien and Orie once or twice since they married. It seems a good match.”

            “Ortien was certainly pleased by my parents’ elevation.” Kel’s voice was dry. “Once he got over the shock. But he doesn’t at all know what to make of his peculiar sister-in-law.”

            “I shouldn’t think he does. Forgive me, you must be used to that.”

            “I don’t know I am. Merovec copes better though he thinks too politically for my liking. I’ve barely met Gavin haMinch, and seen very little of Vorinna or Tilaine in a decade. I grant their letters tend to the bemused but they’re affectionate. Toshuro I haven’t seen for ages but as a Yamani he had no problem with my warrior training.” She shrugged. “I just wish Ortien was … I don’t know … franker. He always seems to be waiting to see which way I’ll jump before he’ll say anything.”

            “Mmm. He’s like that with anyone he respects. His father’s, um, very definite in his opinions. But he’s a decent man, Keladry. And it’s hard to imagine what you’ve done here without seeing it.”

            Kel smiled faintly. “You think I should invite him and Orie?”

            “After the war, yes—get as many people as possible to visit. They’ll leave very thoughtful—as I will.”

            The conversation unsettled her and she was glad when Svein excused himself to visit the shrines. Time with Tobe was welcome, as was heartening news of Dom’s rapid progress and elation as fighting control of Butter began to return. Once she’d tucked her son into bed there was the distilled report Vanget wanted, and the labour of crafting clean, concise descriptions lulled her into working late.

            Next morning the conference began, and the day was taken up with painstaking presentations by Vanget’s staffers of events along the whole front from Frasrlund to Eastwatch since the thaw. The picture that emerged was curiously sparse, a lot of minor incursions by small groups more intent on raiding barns and livestock than fighting, but nothing larger than the force Kel had beaten at Scything Wheat. It was suggestive and the first confirmation of what was happening came in late afternoon from Svein.

            “My chief concern’s a Scanran fort ten miles inside their border—a natural strong point.” He indicated on a map. “This little triangle of Scanran territory west of the Grimholds is isolated and unimportant—Gallan and Tusaine trade runs further north to avoid the mountains—but the fort’s had a small company resident since the war began. They’re army men, not irregulars, and while they don’t attack anything much they cross the Vassa often enough that I have to do everything in reasonable force. But just after Samradh their captain showed up carrying a truce flag, and offered local peace if I could supply grain and vegetables. He said he thought he and his men had been forgotten and despite urgent letters hadn’t had any food supplies at all this year, so they needed to hunt full time. I thought he had a nerve but was sincere and being reasonable by his lights, so after consulting General Vanget I agreed. We’ll see what happens, but he swore he’d notify me if he felt he had to go to an active posture again.”

            Vanget nodded. “The same thing happened with another isolated Scanran fort in the eastern Grimholds, and I’m guessing one reason the army at Frasrlund withdrew was difficulty feeding it. Maggur holds his main army, Hamrkeng, and his hostages, but his logistics are slipping.”

            “Only at the edges.” Raoul was scowling. “I suppose it’s good news but I don’t like the implications. We’re spread out to cope with dispersed attacks and occasional heavier punches, not deal with one big army. It’s better in that if we could beat that army solidly we’d be done, but being in the right place to fight it when it comes ...”

            “Exactly. And though I’m inclined to think Scything Wheat’s a sign Maggur wants New Hope for more than strategic reasons, which would fit with that wretched prophecy, I can’t justify concentrating forces without much more solid knowledge.”

            Numair shifted unhappily. “Daine came north mostly to do what she can to improve information again, and she’s determined to fly over Scanra, but I’m sorry, she won’t be able to stay.”

            “I know, Numair.” Vanget was gloomy. “But anything’s welcome.”

            Kel sat forward. “Could she ask her owls and hawks—birds that can cover distances—to watch for _large_ troop movements? And report to the nearest fort with spellmirrors? It should give us warning of any concentration big enough that we need to respond.”

            “Maybe.” Numair frowned. “How many troops? And report how? Those birds can’t give a scouting report to anyone but Daine.”

            “Can they recognise ‘five hundred plus’? And ring a bell? One of those hanging ones, with a little chain on the clapper. Any forge can make one, there’d only be one in each place, no ordinary bird’ll ring it by accident, and any sentry would recognise the sign.”

            He brightened. “That sounds possible. I can ask her.”

            Others nodded, Vanget among them. “Excellent, Kel. Please do that, Numair—any warning of that army on the march could be invaluable. Now the other thing is _when_ Maggur might be able to move it out of Hamrkeng, and frankly I don’t know. I was sure after last year’s lull he’d come in the spring, but he hasn’t, and thanks to Sir Myles we have some idea why—trouble at home. He seems to have survived, again, and still has an iron grip on real power, but whether he can get himself in the field this year—or wants to—is anyone’s guess. Weren has what little we know about what’s been happening.”

            The staffer’s account was detailed, and as Kel listened, watching the long northern twilight begin, she could guess how it had been put together from piecemeal low-level observation. The source of Maggur’s trouble had been two northern clanchiefs whose men he’d been heavily conscripting, and the troops he’d had to send from Hamrkeng accounted in part for withdrawal from Frasrlund. There was a closing nugget about his rage when the fake refugees he’d sent to New Hope returned with Kel’s message, and a rumour he’d sworn even more vengeance on her than when he’d first seen her report. She frowned.

            “When did you say those Scanrans got back to Hamrkeng, Weren?”

            “Ah … our report suggested the first week of June, my Lady. It only came in ten days ago.”

            “Then they took their own sweet time. We escorted them over the Vassa on … March twentieth, so they took more than two months to cover, what? four hundred miles? It doesn’t make sense unless they were dragging their feet, but what does is Maggur swearing vengeance in the first week of June and Scything Wheat in the last. Say three or four days to decide and pull those men together, two weeks or so to get here, depending on where and how they crossed the Vassa. Stanar and the other prisoners might be able to fill in some of that.”

            “Mmm. And if it was a hotheaded reaction with a loyal hothead put in charge because his experienced commanders had been sent north …” Vanget’s fingers drummed. “It does seem to fit, and might explain their poor tactics. The armies we fought last year and the year before had better sense. Still, we should have something from those Scanrans tonight, and I’ll have that pulled together for tomorrow. I also want to turn to a different set of questions about Maggur—political ones—but let’s call it a day. I can hear weapons practice starting and I’d like to observe again—regular routine rather than that impressive show last night, Kel, if you don’t mind.”

            “Not at all. Glaives and slings tonight, so I should take glaive class myself. Yuki‘s filling in for me, but finds it tiring still.” She grinned at Wyldon. “Let’s see if you remember what I taught you at Midwinter.”

            He did and had clearly been practicing, though Kel took pleasure in finding him quite well matched with the best of the women she’d been training. If Wyldon had had his sword there’d have been no contest, but any Scanran inexperienced against a glaive who faced one of those women stood a good chance of dying. Kel was also working on fighting in groups—if the worst came a glaive squad might cover retreat to the caves; it would also enable them to act as guard squads. Slingwork was improving, and the _thwap_ of stones against targets from fifty yards induced military thoughtfulness. Alanna was as impressed as anyone but asked how Kel was keeping up her own swordwork and cajoled her into a bout.

            Kel was guiltily aware she had been skimping but found she could give Alanna a run for her money. Her size and reach gave her an advantage but Alanna was lightning fast with a very wide repertoire and no bad habits. Encouraged by Neal’s shouts of ‘Youth and skill!’ vying against Raoul’s ‘Age and treachery!’, as well as Alanna’s taunts of having been lazy with her blade while pursuing use of pig-stickers, Kel moved onto the offensive and managed to press Alanna before she over-extended and the Lioness slipped past to swat her across the behind with the flat of her sword. They squared up again but a gate guard came.

            “Sorry to interrupt, Lady Kel, but there’s a basilisk heading for the roadway. Amiir’aan says it’s the one called Tkaa.”

            “Tkaa? What’s he doing here?”

            Daine, who’d been watching, looked concerned. “I’ve no idea—he was heading to Corus with Kit.”

            By the time they reached the gatehouse Tkaa was declaring name and amity under the lintel, and seeing Daine’s frown shook his head.

            “All is well with Skysong, Daine. I was met by a King’s Messenger south of Trebond, and he took over escorting her. I bear messages, one for Alanna and one for you all.”

            “For me? From George?”

            Tkaa nodded, and took Alanna aside, whisper dropping to a pitch no-one else could hear. Kel saw Alanna grip his paws, face intent, and turn away with the set face that meant she didn’t want to talk to anyone. Tkaa looked after her for a moment and came over.

            “Please tell me that was good news, Tkaa.” Raoul kept his voice low. “She’s been jumpy all summer.”

            “I sorrow to hear it.” How could a whisper be so bland? “My other news should be given to the commanders here in private.”

            “Come to my rooms.” Kel led the way, following Alanna to the headquarters building but not trying to catch her. Walking beside Tkaa she glanced up at him and spoke in a murmur. “Rajmuat?”

            “Yes. George has already taken ship.”

            “Good.”

            Tkaa’s bulk filled the stairway, and with him as well as six people in her sitting room it seemed small, and the basilisk very close.

            “The core of the news is simple. Scanran ambassadors have arrived in Corus with offers of peace.” Tkaa’s manner was not joyful.

            “On what terms?” Vanget asked the question on all minds.

            “Unacceptable ones. The marriage of Princess Lianne to King Maggur, surrender of Lady Keladry, joint rule of the City of the Gods.”

            “What?” Raoul had gone red. “They can’t be serious.”

            “The King agrees, but believes these demands an aggressive opening position, though he said they seemed strangely nervous for ambassadors making demands. What is truly on offer, if anything, he does not know. Nor does he understand what Maggur intends.” Tkaa looked at Kel. “He asked me to tell you directly that he will never agree to surrender any Tortallan, and that if you offer to sacrifice yourself he will be cross.”

            Kel let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Well, that’s good to know.” Perhaps oddly she hadn’t doubted the King in this, but thought his logic would have been more political than moral. “How did these Scanrans get to Corus? By sea, or through Galla and Tusaine?”

            “Galla and Tusaine.”

            “So they went further south than they needed. Did they by any chance come with a Genlith trade convoy from Cría?”

            Tkaa’s look was sharp, as was Vanget’s. “They did, Keladry. The Lord of Genlith escorted them to Corus. How did you guess?”

            “It’s a long story and it was scheduled for tomorrow. Vanget?”

            “I think it still is—I want the Lioness here and everyone fresh to think about that. Can you stay, Tkaa?”

            “I can, though I should report to the King if Numair could oblige?”

            “Of course, but do that tomorrow, when we’ve a fuller picture. There’s a court martial sentence to report too.”

            There was no meeting after dinner, from which Alanna was conspicuously absent. Returning to her rooms Kel listened at the guest room door, but a snore told her the Lioness was asleep and she went to continue her report on Scything Wheat.

 

* * * * *

 

After breakfast next morning the conference reassembled, Tkaa and Daine joining them; Sarralyn was again left in St’aara’s care. Tkaa repeated the news for Alanna’s benefit, and after some discussion enlivened by her descriptions of Maggur’s ancestry and personal habits Vanget asked Numair magically to seal the room and nodded to Kel.

            “Mostly I have old questions that bother me and no clear answers, but something happened to stir them up. Forgive me if this seems an odd place to start. Numair, you had to examine several killing devices. Could you say how you believe they were made—in as much detail as possible?”

            He frowned. “Alright, Kel. Let’s see. The basic structure was made of giants’ bones—shins, thighs, pelvis, spine, and arm bones—coated in metal. I’m not sure how that was done, but the bones must have been boiled clean and metal applied magically or in molten form. They were inscribed with runes that helped hold them together, and strung with heavy wire that ran where the marrow would have been and worked round little cogs and pulleys, configuration depending on joint. The knives at knees, elbows, and limb ends swivelled on little bars within a case, and each had two thinner wires to pull it one way or another. A metal box in the chest was the most complicated part—full of gears and lever systems that controlled the arms and legs. Those in turn were magically controlled through a conduit from the head—which was metal, hollow behind the jaw structure, with a necromantic spell fixed by runes that contained and controlled the murdered children’s spirits.”

            “How much iron wire and how many cogs and pulleys per device?”

            “I’m not sure. Counting the chest box several dozen cogs and pulleys, and … I don’t know, a hundred feet of wire at least. More, probably—and in three or more widths. There were multiple strands running the length of each limb, with shorter sections controlling each set of knives, and the connections to the chest box and the head.”

            “Thank you. So to make one device Blayce needed, as well as a child to murder, to get a set of bones, coat them, string them together, and make and fit wires, knives, cogs and pulleys, chest box, and head. My question is how he did all that?” She counted on her fingers. “Giants’ bones, yes—we know there are more giants the further north you go, and though I hope for their sake Maggur found a giants’ graveyard of some kind rather than killing fresh there’s no basic problem with that supply.” She didn’t add her thought that for giants’ bones all had been on the small side, more like children’s than adults’. “And coating them with metal, yes—there was a room at Rathhausak off Blayce’s workshop that had uncoated and coated bones, with a large tank, some smaller ones, and a pile of iron ingots, so I assume that’s where that bit happened, and that room burned with the keep.”

            A second finger went up. “Nor is there a problem with the knives, though the ones I saw were of better quality than most Scanran swords, and many of their best weapons are stolen from Yaman. But let’s say the killing devices were a priority.”

            Finger number three. “What’s _much_ more problematical is the other metalwork. There were seven completed devices with open headdomes at Rathhausak and a few cases of wire and parts, which we left to melt, but nothing like enough for the devices he’d have made with our children. There was a farrier’s smithy but neither finework nor forging could have been done there—no wire-drawing plates or bored gemstones and only a small stock of ingots. So where _was_ it done? The Scanrans aren’t fools but they don’t have anything like our metalworking capacity, and we’re talking about a _lot_ of very high quality work. Collating reports, there were at least two-hundred-and-fifty devices put into the field against us, so at Numair’s low estimate that’s more than five miles of wire as well as thousands of cogs assembled into complex units. And another two hundred planned. I don’t believe Scanra has the capacity to manufacture any of that, certainly not at the rate suggested by the dates when children round Rathhausak were taken and killing devices reported in the field. So where did the metalwork come from?”

            She looked around their faces. “Yaman has the capacity but no love for Scanra, and it couldn’t be done without the emperor’s permission—metalworking is controlled and gemstones for pulling high quality wire very much so. Carthak’s similar, as best I understand, and a lot further away. In either case we’d be considering calculated treachery breaching treaties sealed by marriage, and I see no reason to suspect that. The Copper Isles is another story. The Rittevons have no love for us and a recent history of Scanran alliance, but that was with Ozorne marshalling them and they’re not called the Copper Isles for nothing—they import their iron from Carthak. It’s not impossible but not likely. And unless we’re supposing Maggur got what he needed far afield—Maren or beyond Sarain—that leaves Galla, Tusaine, and Tyra. They _might_ have the capacity and be willing, and I can’t rule them out, but while they do make metals for themselves it’s ordinary stuff and they don’t seem to produce much wire or fine metalwork, let alone export it in quantity. I’ve asked merchants, traders, armourers, smiths, and immortals as well as every resource I could in Corus, and all said the same—high quality wire and complicated metalwork in large quantities? Yamani, Carthaki, or Tortallan business. And our trade is centred on Stone Mountain. Besides the quarrying that gave it its name, it’s iron ore and processed ingots that have made that fief rich, and Genlith is the factor in that trade.”

            She held up a hand as mouths opened. “Bear with me. You can all guess why I’d be very careful about making accusations, and I’m not. I can’t prove any of it, and I have personal reason to dislike the lords of those fiefs, but I still have a nagging question to which I can’t see another logical answer. And two other points occur, circumstantial but suggestive. Blayce Younger was a Gallan, and what records of him Sir Myles found indicate his family was in trade on the Tusaine–Tortall route. General goods, but also metalwork. And both lords in question became extremely unhappy not just with me but with the King and Tortallan law following Joren’s trial in 457, his death at Midwinter 458, and Vinson’s failure in the same season. In Stone Mountain’s case, deranged by grief. There’s also the consideration that after his trial for rape early in 459 Vinson was sentenced to the mines, but vanished when the wagon train taking him north was attacked. No-one knows who was responsible, and Vinson hadn’t been seen since, but Thayet told me she and the King were convinced Genlith or Stone Mountain hired it done—and if either or both did they crossed the boundary into wilful treason at least six months before the first killing device was reported.”

            Kel looked around, seeing troubled looks on every face, even Vanget’s, who had known what was coming, and Tkaa’s, though no-one unfamiliar with basilisks would have known it. “Does anyone have any factual objection or more plausible answer to the question of where fine metalwork and wiring for the killing devices came from?”

            Tkaa half-raised a paw. “I have no factual objection, Keladry, but there are possible sources in the Divine Realms. Given the gods’ attitudes to necromancy I cannot believe it likely, but it is not beyond imagining. Nor is immortal work—centaurs are fine smiths.”

            Numair shook his head. “Everything I saw was mortal work. I’d have recognised god- or centaur-work—their smiths use magic as well as hammers, and there was no trace of any magic save Blayce’s.”

            Raoul stirred. “Kel, did I hear you say Vinson _hadn’t_ been seen?”

            Kel smiled mirthlessly. “Oh yes. The reason the enquiry record ends suddenly with my unfinished remarks is that we had a very odd visit. A clean-shaven Scanran with a spyglass, accompanied by a hooded man and a hard-bitten escort, twenty strong. Because everyone was at the enquiry fields were deserted, and they came within four hundred yards of the glacis for spyglass man to quarter our defences. I wasn’t having that, and while a sally squad were getting ready the hooded man came closer, so I took a shot from the alure.” She looked at Daine. “I used the bow your da gave me, with a griffin-and-stormwing fletched arrow in case he was a mage, and hit him squarely in the back of the neck.”

            “What range?” Daine sounded genuinely curious.

            “Just over a thousand feet.”

            There were whistles and Daine grinned. “Da makes good bows.”

            “He surely does, and I’ve given him thanks for it. But the point is the others took off, Mikal fetched the body in, and wherever Vinson might have been since 458 he’s now in a sealed coffin in the coldest part of the cave system.”

            Alanna looked at Kel, eyes hard. “No possible doubt?”

            “None. He was freshly dead, face unmarked, and Seaver, Neal, and I all saw him. Vinson had a birthmark on his stomach they knew about, and that was there. It didn’t change under the Honesty Gate, and Quenuresh said categorically the body wasn’t magicked or what she called a simulacrum, which I gather is a magical copy.” Numair, Daine, and Alanna all nodded. “His horse bolted and he had no papers, but he was wearing this.” She took from her pocket a small box and passed it round. “His heir’s ring—and that’s interesting because if he was wearing it when convicted and usual rules applied, it would have been confiscated with personal items and clothing. Uinse tells me it’s inconceivable he could have had it in the wagon train of convicts. But if he wasn’t wearing it he must have had contact with his family since escaping. His cloak and hood were rough and in Zerhalm’s opinion of Scanran make, but his inner clothing was very fine quality.” Kel shrugged. “I still can’t prove a thing about treason, but I can prove there’s been contact between the heir of Genlith, a convicted felon, and Maggur’s army. Add that to the question about metalwork and I don’t like the answers.”

            Nor did anyone, and Kel met Vanget’s eyes as Alanna, Raoul, and Wyldon reacted as he’d predicted—vocal outrage, less vocal fuming, and largely silent pain. Daine and Numair said nothing, but after a few moments Tkaa spoke.

            “The King must be informed.”

            Vanget nodded. “He will be, Tkaa, as soon as we’re done. Go on, Kel.”

            “There’s more?” Raoul’s face was tight.

            “Several things, I’m afraid. One’s logical, the other a side question that may intersect. Logic first. Assume Genlith _is_ treasonous, wants to bring down the House of Conté, and sees Maggur as an opportunity. At some point, perhaps through Blayce’s connections, he gets involved in supplying wire and finework to Maggur. Maybe he knew what it was for, maybe he didn’t. Either way, he must have known when the killing devices were reported, and didn’t stop, so he’s serious. Then came Rathhausak and the Scanran advantage was eliminated. So what might he and Maggur be doing to create another? Or put another way, does Maggur have access to Tortallan metalwork and whatever information Genlith can gather, on his own account or through Stone Mountain’s access to Council papers?” Everyone looked extremely unhappy. “As a secondary question, does this help to explain why Scanran ambassadors, travelling via Genlith, are demanding me and access to the City of the Gods, which is full of mages? Did those ambassadors give reasons, Tkaa?”

            “Not that the King mentioned, Keladry. I had assumed it was because of your destruction of Rathhausak.”

            “It probably is. But it might be worth pushing. And what about the City of the Gods? I doubt Maggur wants a lot of Mithran priests. It also strikes me nervous ambassadors may know they’re out on a limb, and making unacceptable demands is a stalling tactic. But if they’re buying time—and gods know they might be given how little’s been happening on the border—what are they buying it for?”

            After a silence Raoul shrugged. “It’s a good question, Kel, but who can tell? We can’t interrogate ambassadors.”

            “Of course not. But I did wonder, Tkaa, if those ambassadors might at some point be offered a tour of the sights—such as our Chamber of the Ordeal. The King could have a word with the elemental beforehand.”

            Alanna whooped. “Kel, _that_ is superbly sneaky. They could hardly refuse and wouldn’t even know their minds had been read.”

            Vanget was smiling for the first time that morning. “Yes, it is good, and you’ve thought it up fast. Congratulations, Kel. We’ve all had the information for the same time and that’s a lot better than anything I’ve come up with. But add the last thing, and your wish list.”

            She shrugged. “This one may be a separate issue, and it may be nothing or it may not. Svein, you know what happened to me last year, and that I met the Black God?”

            He looked acutely uncomfortable. “I heard, yes.”

            “Well, one of the things he said was, I quote, _the tauroses that assailed you had been touched by Uusoae when she conspired with Ozorne, and with others of their kind were in service to King Maggur._ Does that mean other tauroses? Chaos-touched tauroses? Or other Chaos-touched immortals? I’ve prayed but had no answer, despite the general responsiveness of the gods when I ask things, so perhaps we’re supposed to be guessing. But there’s one more fact, which is that in Quenuresh’s opinion the mage shielding the tauroses with illusion spells didn’t have the juice to control them for longer than a few weeks, so there must have been another mage involved.”

            Numair scowled blackly. “I can confirm the tauroses were Chaos-touched—I had a look at the skulls and can still sense it, faintly. I saw chaos vents in the Divine Realms and the feel is very distinctive. Any other magic had been cleared by boiling, and we don’t know of any strong mage siding with Maggur. But when this first came up with Kel’s report last summer I did point out to the King that several of Ozorne’s mages remain unaccounted for, including at least three red robes and five yellows. The inner circle all died at the Palace that night, and Kaddar’s accounted for a dozen more in the years since, but not all. And for what it’s worth, one of the missing is Gissa of Rachne, a red robe who was involved at Dunlath, not so far from Scanra, and certainly knew spells for controlling immortals.”

            Kel shrugged. “Daine told me about her and her mechanical hand. But the point is there has to be at least one serious mage available to Maggur, as well as, if I’m right, our smithying capacity. It may be too late, but I want Sir Myles to try to find out what trade might be going into Scanra north of you, Svein, on the Drell or the summer route north of the Grimholds. The severe winter meant it was closed longer than usual, and that may be a factor in this delay. And I’ve asked immortals, including the griffins, to do anything they can to find out if immortals are likely to attack us, Chaos-touched or otherwise. They don’t know of any except giants and maybe a herd of flesh-eating centaurs Whitelist knows were in Scanra a few years back. But they wouldn’t necessarily know about immortals they don’t associate with—hurroks especially.”

            “So there we have it.” Vanget drummed fingers. “One ugly fact—Vinson—and several ugly questions needing investigation. Is Genlith a traitor? Are supplies going to Maggur from Tortall, and if so how do we stop them? I wonder about food—if he’s running short he may be buying, so is more than usual going up the Drell or north from Cría? Is this delay more deliberate than we’ve been thinking, and why? Are the ambassadors part of it? Are they building something, and what? Does Maggur have some force he’s waiting to use?” He threw up his hands. “Too many questions and no prospect of answers, but we can thrash it over and come up with a list of things to do.”

            It took most of the day and Kel was happier at the end of it, but not much. Scrying and spies, with the mercantile network, might provide answers about trade happening now, in particular whether Tortallan grain was going north and if there was unusual Gallan traffic with Scanra. Messages would be sent to Yaman and Carthak to request checks there, in case someone disliked their emperors sufficiently to become involved in forbidden trade with Scanra. The elemental of the Chamber might glean information from the ambassadors, if it was willing and depending on what they knew. The killing device displayed in Corus could be re-examined by senior smithcraft mages to see if there was any way of identifying where wires and cogs had been made. And Daine would ask birds to look for unusual construction but didn’t hold out much hope—the abstract thinking needed to recognise the unusual and the potential threat of components was beyond them, and while a specific site, once found, could be investigated closely, scouting from the air was good for finding troops but not what was happening inside a building. None of her animals had been able to find Blayce, and this was vaguer.

            Vanget called a halt in late afternoon, but only so they could retire to Kel’s sitting room and use the hearth to contact the King, whose initially pleased expression went from annoyed to thunderous to cold remoteness as he listened. Scything Wheat was well received, and the Scanrans could remain at New Hope if Kel was happy for them to do so. In the matter of Rogal he checked legal points carefully, wanting the exact wording of the oath Rogal had sworn and to be read portions of the records, but after several moments’ hard thought declined to interfere, as Vanget had predicted, though he would enquire of Lord Carolan what in Tortall he thought he’d been doing placing a liegeman-at-arms silently in another fief. News of Vinson’s death was abstractly satisfying but its nature, place, and the company he’d been keeping, with the Genlith ring on his finger, were concrete problems he liked no more than anyone, and the possibility of treason on the scale that might be involved was bleak. Body and ring were to be sent under guard to Corus, and the only thing that brought a smile to the King’s face was Kel’s suggestion about showing the Scanran ambassadors the Chamber.

             “Now _that_ I will do with pleasure, Keladry. I should have thought of it myself. The elemental was very helpful when I spoke to it after the Midwinter ordeals, but I don’t think about it as practically as you.” He shook his head. “I’ll speak to it tonight. It’ll take a while to set up, though—several days. And I agree the ambassadors are stalling so they ought to know _something_. We’ll see. As for the rest … I’ll speak to Sir Myles tonight, and get smith mages looking at that metalwork. The notes to Yaman and Carthak. And I’ll scry, of course, but it’s a thankless task.”

            Alanna nodded. “Isn’t it? It didn’t help us at all with … that other thing. How are the negotiations, Jon? They can’t have expected you to agree to any of those demands.”

            “They’ve dropped the demand for Lianne’s hand, and watered down the City of the Gods to requiring we make mages available to help them become more self-sufficient generally and less in need of Tortallan wealth and territory. It’s not a stupid idea, or it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t Maggur on the Bloody Throne, but while he’s there I’m not doing anything to strengthen them. And they’re still demanding your head, Keladry, for Rathhausak. No, don’t make me cross—I’ve told them every time they mention it that it’s out of the question and that I demand Maggur’s head as a minimum reparation.”

            “I wasn’t going to be self-sacrificing, sire—only to ask if they’ve mentioned anything other than Rathhausak.”

            “What sort of thing?”

            “Freja Haraldsdottir or her son? The message I sent Maggur with those other Scanrans? Or Runnerspring’s line about unnatural women?”

            “No, none of those. Runnerspring’s not here—he stomped back to his fief in high dudgeon when I wouldn’t rescind his son’s banishment from court. And from what you’ve said about timing I’d think the message must have arrived after these ambassadors had left.”

            “Scything Wheat must have been after they’d arrived in Corus.”

            His image straightened. “Gods, that’s true. What day was it?”

            “The twenty-eighth.”

            “Then yes, they arrived the day before Samradh, so that attack was a breach of good faith.”

            “Or just a unilateral grab for one of his demands.”

            “Either way it gives me a lever. Congratulations again on that victory. And the shot to kill Vinson. I look forward to your reports and expect I’ll eventually feel more grateful about the rest of your thinking, but I’m afraid right now it’s too much like bad news.”

            Kel didn’t drop her eyes. “I’m sorry that’s so, sire, but we need to face this. And it adds some weight, maybe, to the interpretation of that prophecy that thinks the next battle here has to be decisive. So all we have to do is win it—and _not_ get stabbed in the back.”

            He nodded. “I did the right thing when I made you a Councillor. And now I must talk to Sir Myles. General Vanget, contact me again, please, before you leave for Northwatch.”

            The image vanished and the flames died, leaving ashes and embers, and unanswered questions.


	18. Forgiveness

**Chapter Eighteen — Forgiveness**

_7 July – 15 August_

 

With the front quiet and spellmirror links to Northwatch and Mastiff the commanders stayed days longer than Kel expected, and though they joked about the excellent food and continued to observe training closely she knew they were waiting on Rogal’s execution. She had seen him to tell him his sentence had been confirmed by Wyldon and Vanget, and that the King declined to intervene, offering him access to the shrines, but received only curses. She would have liked to get on with it but the week-long delay was traditional and she was left to steady her mind as best she could, at the Black God’s shrine and elsewhere.

            Fortunately there were more distractions than mounting standards taken at Scything Wheat and despatching Vinson to Corus with Jacut, who appreciated a redeemed felon escorting an escaped one. The corral drawbridge was articulated; even after petrification of the portcullis into a dense greeny-black rock additional counterweights were needed, but once balance was found bridge and barrier rose and descended easily; with the outlet sough completed and moat filled Kel contemplated the gatehouse with intense satisfaction. Geraint basked in gruff praise from Wyldon and Vanget, and went pink when Alanna threw him a salute and a grinning thumbs-up. Only the gatehouse roof, part of the inner wall of the killing field, and internal work on the buildings remained, and squads were reassigned to haul stone from the tunnel and work on its internal defensive positions.

            Questioning the prisoners elicited confirmation of the hothead theory; the core of the attack had been a mounted company led by a Maggur loyalist long stationed in Hamrkeng, to which whoever could be rounded up had been suddenly attached. More importantly to Kel, the prisoners, after heated debate, agreed to extend their oaths and work in fields and woodshops as long as they weren’t expected to fight against countrymen or undertake military tasks; when alarms sounded they would restrict themselves to barracks. It was a new arrangement for everyone; Kel held the final negotiation before the shrines so everyone knew what was agreed, and there were fewer objections than she’d anticipated. These Scanrans hadn’t killed anyone at New Hope, most were craftsmen and farmers, their conscription or coercion was understood, they’d respectfully attended Merric’s funeral, and extra hands were welcome. For their own part they were bemused by New Hope, fascinated by immortals, and though worried about kin believed strongly that staying put offered them the best chance of surviving the war; Kel’s destruction of Rathhausak had given her a Scanran reputation she was trying to absorb that was for Stanar and others whose clans Maggur had smashed a potent attraction. Vanget tended to shake his head when he saw them going off to the fields chatting with New Hopers or walking the main level unguarded, but more in wonder than disapproval; Svein was the same, but after a few days Kel realised Alanna’s and Raoul’s bland expressions concealed amused admiration.

            “You’re a marvel.” Raoul ruffled Kel’s hair affectionately, making her feel absurdly young again. “It’s humane, and it’s made allies of a kind out of enemies without draining resources—boosting them, in fact. I’d puff out my chest and say I taught you well but it’s purely you.”

            “Second that.” Alanna completed a complex series of sword exercises. “I had an interesting chat with Neal and Yuki about what you did when that idiot Tirrsmonter attacked Amiir’aan. And you’d do the same if someone attacked one of the prisoners, wouldn’t you?”

            Kel stopped herself shuffling. “Maybe not so much—they’re adults and were enemies until pretty recently—but yes, if it was just bigotry.”

            “I haven’t heard this one.” Raoul quirked eyebrows at Alanna. “What did our Kel do?”

            Scowling, she left them to hash over the story and went to see the steps now advancing rapidly up the fin. Numair hadn’t been able to speed the cutting spell but after watching what the basilisks, Kuriaju, and Petrin were doing, and going round to the roadway to look at angles, had come up with a different idea. The steps began from the gallery extending the inner alure, continuing it as a tunnel, with windows every few yards for light, that had to be pitched quite steeply to climb well clear of the mined overhang. Traverse progress had been slow, but once Numair confirmed they were past the moat he suggested moving to an open groove, with pillars every ten steps to support the roof, and simply shifting cut rock straight out to fall to the base of the fin. Besides the time and effort it took a basilisk to cuts each next step, most labour was spent cutting that slab into small blocks and hauling them down; with the new system, the moment cuts were done ogre strength or Numair’s magic could shift the mass of stone ten foot to the right and watch it disappear. The only limiting factor until they moved above the overhang was the basilisks’ endurance, and with all the adults except St’aara working shifts, and Numair amusing himself flicking slabs sideways, apparently effortlessly, the regular thud of landings in soft ground from ever increasing heights became a welcome punctuation of the days, and hourly progress was visible to all.

            Numair also spent time making spellmirrors and opal keys, but in Daine’s absences he was restless and found rock-shifting a release. She was flying far north into Scanra to spread word among hawks and owls, leaving Sarralyn to St’aara’s and Yuki’s care, but made time for a second session with Butter, a boost to Peachblossom’s leg, and a long evening sitting with New Hope’s knowing dogs, cat, and birds, renewing her magical expansion of minds and getting their versions of events.

            “They’re all content, Kel, though they’d like to see more of you. And the marmalade cat had an interesting view of the first half of your fight with Stenmun Kinslayer.”

            “I should think she did. I’m surprised she remembers it after the blow she took. I thought we’d lost her.”

            “Zerhalm did a good job, and she realises you took what you thought was only her body with you. She’s grateful in a cat sort of way.”

            “I saved her so I ought to stroke her?”

            Daine laughed. “Pretty much. You should meet Queenclaw—the cat goddess. She’s often in Ma’s kitchen, and when she isn’t wheedling tidbits or stalking pudding she just gives impatient orders— _you’re not doing anything useful so stroke me_. It’s hard to refuse her.”

            “I bet.” Kel sighed. “My image of your parents’ house is very strange, between Lord Gainel, that peculiar animal god, and Queenclaw.”

            “Broadfoot? They like Ma’s cooking, mostly. And they tend to be hunters, like Da, not grazers. Gainel’s an old friend, so far as I know. It’s a peaceful place, and the views are beautiful.”

            “Huh. I’d have thought all of the Divine Realms were beautiful until I heard about that dragon skullroad. And that reminds me—I’ve been meaning to ask what sunbirds are.”

            “Sunbirds? Where did you—oh, those arrows Da gave you. Have you tried one?”

            “I haven’t dared.”

            “It did sound spectacular. _The mark these arrows find will burn, be it metal or stone._ ”

            “Are sunbirds made of fire, then?”

            “Not as far as I know, but they sometimes look it. Big things, between an eagle and a griffin, that spiral up looking dark when you can make them out at all—they can be oddly transparent. But at a certain height they face the sun and spread their wings in a special way and glory! then they look as if they’re made of light. A flock displaying is beyond anything. Gods watch Chaos in their light, as mages scry in fire.”

            “Huh.” Kel thought about this. “So maybe the arrow’s flight is like the spiral up and when it hits it does what the sunbirds do.”

            “Could be. I’ll ask Da when I have a chance, though I can’t promise he’ll answer.” Daine grinned. “Did I tell you Tobe came to check you weren’t pulling his leg about that bearskin I gave Gary?”

            “I promised I wasn’t but I can’t blame him—a sixteen-foot bear is hard to believe.”

            “If Da wins himself another pelt I’ll bring it to you.”

            “Go on with you. Do other gods kill one another?”

            “Animal ones do. Broadfoot eats frog gods who promptly reappear, so I imagine the fox god eats the chicken god and the lion god eats grazer gods. I’ve never met them, though.”

            “It’s very peculiar.” It certainly had been to experience death and be immediately returned, and Kel’s sense of wrongness in being alive twisted in her stomach.

            “Gods are, Kel—haven’t you noticed? But the animal gods and Da are just doing what they do. The great gods are different.”

            “I suppose. But that’s a perspective I lack, Daine—the elemental, your Ma and Da, the Black God, the Hag, the Goddess, to me they’re all so much greater that telling them apart’s like an ant guessing the height of different mountains. It might be a lot but it’s no odds to the ant.”

            Daine laughed again. “I understand the feeling but you don’t do yourself justice. You’d not ask a god to mindread Scanran ambassadors, and I doubt you’d have asked the Black God to dinner.” Her look became shrewd. “Is he what this is about, really? With that cursed Rogal?”

            “Yes, but he won’t be cursed. He’ll be redeemed.” Soft-voiced, Kel explained what the Black God had said to her. “I’ve prayed for guidance but had no reply. Nothing.”

            “Then carry on, Kel. His words, his problem. Is it any different from killing someone in battle after they’d killed one of your soldiers?”

            Kel stared. “Well, that’s refreshing. But maybe it is—because I’ve time to think about it, and have to do it in cold blood. I’ve killed scores of men, Daine, starting when I was twelve, but always in the heat. The nearest I’ve come to this was those Scanran groups we met going to Rathhausak, when I gave orders to take no prisoners and heal no wounded, and I felt sick about that but it was still hot battle, just making sure blows killed. And at Scything Wheat, though I felt sick as the arrows were cutting those poor Scanrans down, I was pumped up to fight the rest of them.” She grimaced. “I’ve been bracing myself for months now against the need to use these defences—the rockfalls and killing fields, and even those sunbird arrows. If I work the mageblasts myself, as I ought, I’ll probably have killed thousands before we’re done. And I’ll live with that. Any soldier has to, any commander. But this with Rogal tomorrow … I don’t think I’ve ever dreaded anything more.” Her voice sank. “I’m dreaming of the tauros for the first time since the goddess healed me, but it has Rogal’s face.”

            “Oh Kel.” Daine grasped her hands, her eyes sharp. “ _Dreaming_ , not remembering?”

            “I suppose. Yes. The memory vision always repeated exactly, but these ones don’t. Sometimes Merric’s body is there, or Vinson’s. I’m waiting for the tauros to have _his_ face.”

            “Well, if they’re dreams, pray to Gainel. He’s close to the Black God. It’s forgiveness they share, I think—no-one’s refused in death and anything can happen in dreams. It’s Gainel who escorts my Grandda to see Ma when the Black God lets him visit. And I think the Black God’s more limited in what he says to mortals, even though Gainel can only speak to us in dreams. Whether that’s some rule or just habit I don’t know, but Gainel’s a better bet. Pray to him tonight, and I’ll throw one in too. What is it you want to know?”

            Kel didn’t have to think. “Does New Hope stand a better chance of surviving this roil in the timeway with Rogal dead at my hand, at someone else’s hand, or set free?”

            “I’ll meet you at Gainel’s shrine after dinner, when Sarralyn’s down.”

            In the event Daine’s daughter accompanied them, wide awake with infinite curiosity in her big eyes. Kel had been in a solemn mood over the churn in her guts but found herself welcoming the baby’s presence. There wasn’t any answer, of course but without needing to address the heartbreaking sadness in the Black God’s face she found it easier to marshal thoughts, her worry about effects on the timeway and the fear she hadn’t confided even to Daine, that Merric’s spirit would resent her for the grace she extended to Rogal even in making him pay for the death he’d caused. She wasn’t sure if it was really a prayer or just a plea for comfort but that didn’t seem to matter, and after they’d introduced a bouncing Sarralyn to Peachblossom and Jump, who came to investigate on their evening round, she went to bed comforted and believing that despite everything she would sleep.

            In her dream everything that would happen next morning unfolded emotionlessly in her mind, as if she stood apart from herself. She heard herself say to Rogal words she’d been playing over and over in her mind, and gave the blow. The consequences were affectless, and as she lifted her gaze from what had rolled to her feet her breath caught even in dream at the sight of Merric and the tall, hooded figure behind him. Her friend’s features were clear, red hair bright in sunshine, without its awful dullness on his corpse, and he gave her his familiar, disreputable grin below warm eyes. They turned greyer as he looked at Rogal, and Kel saw a bewildered and frightened spirit rising from dead flesh, staring at Merric and the god. Shaking his head Merric came forward to take Rogal’s hand, and though he said nothing Kel could hear his exasperated ‘Idiot!’ as he led his killer to the god and bowed, pulling Rogal down with him. Then all three faded into glare as the sun crested the fin and Kel heard the familiar sough of wind; when she’d blinked dazzle from her eyes there was nothing to be seen and she almost cried out, not wanting to lose Merric again so quickly, desiring to see once more the Black God’s face and the sadness in his eyes. Her foot took an involuntary step forward and something clanked at her feet; glancing down she saw a pail rolling away, and understood the benediction as the dream faded into her usual pre-dawn wakefulness. Her mind and will were clear.

            Civilian executions could happen at any time but the army did things by first light and she rose, dressing in her best Mindelan tunic. Tobe was waiting, dressed the same way, and hugged her, head pressed to her breast. He had grown, she realised as she hugged him back.

            “You don’t have to watch this, Tobe.”

            “Yes I do. Sir Merric was my friend and you’re my Ma.”

            She squeezed tight and let him go. “Come on, then.”

            She took her glaive from its stand and followed him. Many people were already waiting on paths and green, talking softly, but all stood silently aside as she and Tobe made their way to the shrines. She knelt first to Lord Gainel’s, with a simple prayer of thanks, and bowed to each shrine, pausing for a moment at Lord Mithros’s as the god of justice; at the Black God’s she knelt again. She couldn’t have verbalised what she was feeling and didn’t try, but blended gratitude and compassion blazed in her mind—the surrender of a burden with appalled relief and piercing sorrow for the one who took it from her. Rising, her gaze strayed to the one shrine yet unvisited, Lord Sakuyo’s, and she bowed, sticking out her tongue in her imagination and hearing his laugh in the same way. Noting Cloestra’s absence from her roost she gestured Tobe to stay to that side, and retraced her steps to stand before Lord Mithros’s shrine and look out over the main level, face calm, her glaive resting in her hand.

            Almost everyone, mortal and immortal, seemed to be assembled in the false dawn, and it was only a few minutes before Uinse’s squad, in gleaming armour, appeared bringing Rogal. His hands were bound but he wasn’t gagged, and she gave him no chance to speak; the time for that was past.

            “Rogal, once of Runnerspring and Tirrsmont, and at the last of New Hope, you broke your solemn oath in rage and pride, and killed a man you were sworn to defend and obey. Your life is rightly forfeit and none with the authority to pardon you will do so—not I, nor my Lord of Cavall, nor General Vanget, nor His Majesty. You die this morning in payment of the life you wrongfully took and in penance of oathbreach. It is just, yet you are first to be executed here and I will not stain this ground with your blood. Captain Uinse, escort condemned Rogal to the skullroad.”

            Uinse had known her order was coming and bowed. “My Lady.”

            Others had not known and there was a swirl of movement as people made for the north tower and outer alures. Kel gestured to Tobe to join her as she looked at the assembled commanders.

            “Please follow me.”

            Tobe slipped a hand into hers as they followed Uinse towards the gatehouse. Climbing to the shelf she saw Irnai waiting at the top, and silently let Tobe’s hand go for a moment, shifting her glaive to allow her to stroke Irnai’s hair as the girl fell in beside her. Shifting the glaive back to take Tobe’s hand again she heard indrawn breaths. Waiting in the gloom of the barbican for the gates to be thrust open she couldn’t see the faces of Uinse’s squad, but heard distant exclamations from people reaching the outer alure and gatehouse roof, and knew all was as she’d arranged. As the leaves of the gate showed a crack of dawnlight a pale bar lit Rogal ten paces in front; her gaze drifted sideways to objects she knew would be there, the heavy mop and pail half-full of water used to keep the barbican clean, and asked Tobe to fetch the pail. His glance was puzzled as he obeyed but Irnai squeezed her arm and she smiled woodenly at the child seer before taking the pail and following a suddenly nervous squad forward.

            The Stone Tree Nation lined the roadway on both sides; the outer edge was solid with overlapping steel, and a stormwing perched on each tauros head. Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle were occupied by Cloestra, Hebakh, and Queen Barzha, and below them the ugly male and two others, razor wings extended, closed the way. The wash of fear was palpable and Rogal cried out, beginning to thrash in his captors’ arms, but her voice stilled him as an adult’s might a baby’s cry.

            “Go forward, Rogal of New Hope, who betrayed us. The Stone Tree Nation harms none today, even you condemned.”

            Her own stride forward seemed to impel everyone else and she came into the light raying over their heads, carefully descending the steep slope and turn before halting to bow, once but deeply, to Barzha; Tobe echoed her and Irnai curtseyed. Every stormwing ritually raised wings to meet over their heads, feathers gleaming. Mutely she gestured the children back, sensing Raoul and Alanna gather them in.

            “Leave him bound but let him go, Captain Uinse.”

            She’d warned him of what she intended but his eyes were wide as he obeyed; the stormwings were still as stone but Rogal spun, staring, and again she gave him no chance to prate, walking forward to stand a few feet before him, glaive angled out, and set the pail at her side.

            “Rogal of New Hope, will you hear my private words, spoken to you as one who has seen the Black God’s face?”

            The deathly silence encompassed him as everyone, and she took a step to face him intimately, restricting her voice to him alone though she’d bet the stormwings could hear.

            “Here’s truth, Rogal. I have died, even as you will this hour, and  heard the Black God speak these words. _Fear not for those you send to my judges, nor for yourself in sending them to me. When you shall come yourself before me none shall cry witness against you. And who dies in your service shall find their death their grace, and my mercy infinite._ I, Keladry of Mindelan, do swear this to be true.” Her free hand traced the gods’ circle and chimes rang, making Rogal flinch; she heard murmuring on the alures. “Forsworn man, against whom all have cried out, would you die in my service and earn the Black God’s mercy and Sir Merric’s forgiveness in the Peaceful Realms?” She read his eyes but that was not enough. “Speak your answer, Rogal of New Hope.” She saw his half-desires to refuse boil away leaving only fear and guilt and knowledge of her truth.

            “I would.” It was a sigh of defeated breath but it had been spoken.

            “Then kneel and offer me your neck. I will be swift and true, and the Black God with Sir Merric shall meet you in their grace.”

            As he sank, head forward, she took a step back, arms curling into movements long familiar from pattern dances. Lift, extend, poise, sweep. Her mind was empty of everything but movement and her blow exact. As its impetus spun his head free she saw blood arc, rising higher and further than she’d ever imagined to splash squarely across Pizzle and Queen Barzha’s feet. Head and body fell, and resting the glaive’s butt on the ground she sank to her knees, hearing again the distant susurration of mortal voices; her awareness was on the pail, and Sakuyo laughed and laughed as she heaved up everything she’d been able to choke down in the last day in three violent retches that left her emptied of everything. Half-straightening she had a glimpse of Merric, one hand on Rogal’s shoulder with rueful, loving admiration in his eyes, and a glint under the Black God’s hood and then they were gone and there was pure silence that felt as if it reached for miles.

            Despite the smell she had the sense to let herself catch her breath  before finding her legs just willing. She caught her son’s eyes where he stood with Alanna’s hand on his shoulder.

            “Tobe, would you be kind enough to empty and replace the pail?”

            He didn’t hesitate but as he neared her stretched out his hands and she overrode her trembling muscles to stoop to his embrace, free arm tightening before she straightened again and he lifted the pail and walked back up the roadway.

            “Captain Uinse, place Rogal’s remains in a plain coffin and bury him at Haven, without a headstone.” With an effort she raised her voice, hoarse from acid burn. “There will be no remembrances for an unmarked grave. But I who have killed Rogal of New Hope in the name of justice say he died in our service, repenting his deed, and I _know_ he finds his death his grace and the Black God’s mercy infinite.” She swallowed, clearing bile. “That in shared death Sir Merric exasperatedly calls him an idiot and forgives him, of his grace leading him to judgement in the Peaceful Realms. These things are true, but I ask you all to join with me in agreeing they should be so.”

            “So mote it be.”

            She could hardly hear her own voice among the throng, and blinked away tears. “Carry on, please, Uinse.”

            He bowed, face white. “My Lady, of _your_ grace.”

            She inclined her head to Barzha and Hebakh, who managed nods despite glazed eyes, and left Uinse’s squad to their task, walking slowly up the roadway and managing not to use her glaive as a stick. It didn’t deserve that. Vanget and Wyldon parted to let her through, and fell in behind. Re-entering New Hope she paused to speak to Brodhelm, staring out over the main level to the terrace and the shrines.

            “Please carry on as usual, Captain. I’ll be in my rooms for a while.”

            “My Lady.”

            Respecting her reserve no-one spoke as she made her way back, closing her door and mechanically stripping off her good tunic before cleaning her glaive and restoring it to its stand. She looked at the stained rag in her hand, put it carefully on the hearth, and went to the privy to rinse her mouth before sitting on her bed to remove her boots. Face down, she let tears flow into the pillow that muffled noise, not knowing whether she wept for Merric or Rogal or the god, or only herself.

            Alanna woke her from a drained doze a couple of hours later, sitting on her bed as she rolled over and sat up, wincing and rotating the crick out of her neck.

            “How are you feeling, Kel?”

            “Alright, I suppose. Empty.”

            “Cried out?”

            “For now, anyway.”

            “Good.”

            “Is everything alright.”

            “Oh yes. Everyone’s working hard and feeling brushed by grace. I take it you saw Merric forgive Rogal and the Black God receive him?”

            Kel met Alanna’s purple eyes. “You saw them too?”

            “The Goddess lent me her vision. Daine saw, and Irnai, but no-one else. I haven’t seen a dead man since I killed Roger the second time, and as often as I’ve prayed to him I’d never seen the Black God.” Alanna hesitated. “Did you tell Rogal about the god’s grace?”

            Kel nodded. “I asked him if he would choose to die in my service.”

            “Ah.” Alanna was silent for a moment. “To me the god was hooded. Did you see his face?”

            “Not this time. Just a glint of eyes at the last. I thought I heard Sakuyo laugh when I was vomiting, but that might have been me.”

            Alanna had a strange expression. “Might it? I think you’re probably the bravest person I’ve ever met.” Kel blinked. There was something wrong with that statement. “Don’t worry about it.” Alanna smiled crookedly. “It’s for me to think about, not you, though I must tell Jon all that happened today. And I think you should tell Hollyrose and his lady the full story, when you can, grace and all. They’ll appreciate it more than you may think. Now, you won’t feel like eating until you smell the food but you need breakfast. One of the cooks stayed to do you some fresh. Come on.”

            Slowly Kel rose, pulled on her everyday tunic, and followed Alanna, bemused by the sunlit ordinariness of the day and feeling as unhungry as she still felt hollow. Walking to the messhall she doubted she’d be able to choke anything down, wondering how to apologise to the cook, but to her surprise Alanna proved quite right.

 

* * * * *

 

Routine resumed. Kel couldn’t say people were wary of her—there was no fear in them—but there was a different quality in the way they spoke to her she couldn’t pin down. She’d seen a form of it in Svein and Vanget before they left, and even Raoul, though he’d clapped her on the shoulder and promised to use his new spellmirror and opal.

            “I might try and send Dom’s old lads along sometime, Kel. They’ll be relieved to have news of him and want to see him.”

            “They’re always welcome, Raoul—people ask after them often and they’re honorary New Hopers. Who took the squad?”

            “Wolset, kicking and screaming.”

            “Huh. Give him my best? And all of them.”

            “Surely.”

            He’d looked back and waved as he crossed the moatbridge, and she’d wondered what it was she’d seen in his eyes. Alanna and Wyldon went with him, and for all its crowdedness New Hope seemed smaller without them, as if the buildings had shrunk or moved closer together. Daine and Numair stayed—she was still flying daily over Scanra, and he’d become absorbed in the crystal magelights Varik and Quenuresh had made from petrified ice, entering an abstracted theoretical and experimental mode from which only Sarralyn and Daine’s returns could move him. Kel hoped whatever it was would prove useful and got on with her duties, but Neal was curious and invited him, with Daine and Kel, to the Yamani meal Yuki cooked once a month. The array of pungent _tsukemono_ provided most of the conversation, with restorative laughter, but as they picked at _karumetou_ Neal asked what he was trying to do.

            “Eh? Oh, with the petrified ice? I’m not sure, Neal. Quenuresh’s spell is different from the Carthaki one we use for magelights. There’s some odd synergy with Varik’s Gift and her magic and the rock spell and I wondered if …”

            His voice tailed away and Daine rolled her eyes at Sarralyn on her lap, making the baby gurgle laughter. “You wondered what, dear heart?”

            “Oh, sorry. I think the icelights are boosting the light Varik set by absorbing sunshine during the day and releasing it at night. I’m trying to craft a spell to duplicate that. You’d still need a basilisk but far less power to start, and we’ve Tkaa. No maintenance or running costs. I was thinking about lighting the Palace grounds and lower city at night.”

            Kel clapped softly. “Now that’s a worthy project. I was down there after dark at Midwinter, seeing Lalasa, and remember thinking half the problem for women would be solved if the streets could be lit. And here I’d like lights on the roadway and the bridges.”

            “You’re assuming I’ll succeed, Kel. There’s no guarantee. I did have a notion, though—do you mind if I go to talk to Quenuresh tomorrow?”

            “Of course not, but get a guard squad from Uinse.”

            “Thank you. I have my jerkin too.”

            Kel smiled. “Good. It’s no use in the closet. Not that there’s any sign of trouble, but you never know.”

            “True enough, and I _am_ grateful for it, Kel. I just don’t like wearing armour, or the way people look at me when I do. The gods-it’s-that-mage look is bad enough, but an armoured mage …” He shook his head ruefully. “I will be very glad when this war’s over.”

            The opening was too inviting, and Kel tentatively tried to describe what was troubling her in people’s attitudes since Rogal’s execution. They listened, and Neal shook his head.

            “Kel, Kel, who else would be puzzled? What you’re seeing is respect. Not that they didn’t respect you before, but not like this. If you really want to know, it was the pail as much as anything.”

            Kel felt bewildered. “The pail?”

            Yuki nodded. “Yes, Keladry- _chan_ , the pail. Everyone knew what you could do, and had done, but your Yamani stillness confused them. Now they know how much it costs you, and that you do it anyway.”

            “They mostly knew it a bit, Yuki.” Neal cupped his hands. “But now they know it differently.”

            Kel swallowed. “You don’t look at me that way, Neal. Nor Yuki.”

            “I knew it already, Kel, and so did Yuki. For me it’s your lesson about chivalry all over again, and the bruises you took teaching it, but up a level. Or ten. And the pail’s a perfect symbol.”

            “It is?” Kel was baffled and both Yuki and Daine smiled.

            “Of course it is, Keladry- _chan_. I am sure Lord Sakuyo laughed.”

            Keel stared. “I thought I heard him, but Alanna and Irnai didn’t.” She looked at Daine. “Did you? Alanna said you saw the Black God.”

            “No, but I don’t know him at all, so there’s no reason I should.”

            “Hang on—the Black God was there?” Neal’s eyes were wide. “You saw him again, Kel?”

            “Yes. And Merric.” She told the story, finding it easier than expected though her eyes were damp as she tried to explain knowing Merric forgave her for forgiving Rogal. Drying her eyes she saw Yuki doing the same and gave a crooked smile. “Alanna thought I should tell Merric’s parents the story. I don’t think I can by letter, and Mithros knows when I’ll ever meet them. But do you agree I should?”

            “Oh yes. And Keladry- _chan_ , you must tell a poet—a good Yamani poet. I will ask Cricket.”

            “A _poet?_ Yuki, why?”

            “It is a great ballad and holy tale—do you not see? At court there would be a thousand _haiku_ made of this.”

            “Yuki, that’s insane. And even if it isn’t it wouldn’t help Merric’s parents.”

            “I don’t know, Kel—it might.” Neal’s eyes were bright. “For once I agree with my Yamani rose about poetry, and I certainly think you should tell Lord Belian and Lady Marra.”

            To her shock Daine and Numair also thought she should tell Merric’s parents, assuring her truth was best, however unlikely it might sound. She half-wanted to ask all of them if they’d feel the same way if it had been their child who’d died, but with Sarralyn and—named at last! if to her embarrassment—Ryokel present she stifled the impulse. _Ryoko_ meant ‘bright child’ in Yamani, and Neal and Yuki said the –kel suffix was entirely appropriate as they wanted her as a godsmother, and couldn’t find a way of using –eal or –imi that either of them liked. The naming ceremony was to be at Mabon, with Baird coming and perhaps Duchess Wilina, if the lull continued.

            “If you all say so.”

            “Don’t be so doubtful, Kel.” One of Neal’s long-fingered hands reached to stroke Ryokel in Yuki’s arms. “It’s Merric who’ll matter to them, not Rogal. To know a dead child blessed in the Black God’s arms … that’s as much healing as can be for their grief.”

            She knew he was thinking of his lost brothers and parents’ grief, but decided all the same to ask her own parents. She owed them a first-hand account anyway, as well as the King, and with her report on Scything Wheat despatched to Vanget she spent two long evenings writing letters. To her parents she could be direct about feelings, trusting them to understand her visionary dream and the way she suspected Lord Gainel was shielding her from nightmares, but the King’s letter cost her sweat and ended up a blunter document, bare wording contrasting oddly with substance. Letters arrived too, including one from Lalasa filled with wedding plans and news of the shops, and with them her old finery, remarkably restored, and her green kimonos with ducal border added. She had no call to dress up before Ryokel’s naming, but restoration of her wardrobe was a comfort she hadn’t anticipated.

            Two days later Kel made her weekly report by spellmirror, with little to say except that the tunnellers had at last hit limestone and the buildings within the corral were complete, but progress on the steps had slowed as they moved above the mined overhang and cut stone once more had to be broken up and packed down before it could be dropped over the edge. Wyldon nodded, asking when she thought the building team would leave, then steepled his fingers and sat back.

            “There’s news from Corus. Vanget and I had a long conversation with the King yesterday, and there are things you should know. Top of the list is that the Scanran ambassadors have been sent packing. The Chamber was willing to read their minds, as you suggested, and while they knew disappointingly little about Maggur’s plans they _did_ have instructions to stall and no expectation of reaching an agreement. The impossible demands and incremental concessions were all planned, and they were supposed to string everything out for as long as they could. So His Majesty reasoned that if Maggur wanted them occupying his time he shouldn’t comply, and used Scything Wheat as an excuse to bend their ears about negotiating in bad faith before presenting a list of his own demands, starting with Maggur’s abdication, and is having them escorted to the northern border at Frasrlund.”

            Kel whistled softly. “Did Genlith have anything to say about that?”

            Wyldon grimaced. “He did, with bilious indignation, apparently. His Majesty thought his disappointment genuine.”

            “Disappointment in what, though? Does he know about Vinson?”

            “No. What to make public about that is still being debated. Meanwhile the Gallan trade he controls as Stone Mountain’s factor is being watched, and it looks as if you were right about food. There’s no sign of metalwork, but there are additional orders for grain and rice Sir Myles’s agents and believe are intended to be shipped on from Cría to Hamrkeng. If so they’ll be stopped, and the Crown will purchase them.”

            Kel frowned. “How much food?”

            “Sir Myles has identified orders for about twelve hundred tons, and there may be more.”

            “Enough to leave a lot of people hungry come February and March.”

            “Certainly. If Maggur’s conscripted so many his harvests are that short the last thing we should be doing is making up the lack.”

            “It’s hard on the people. But I was wondering, as he’s definitely buying time, if famine might force his hand on whatever he’s planning. We should be prepared for trouble the moment it thaws.”

            “Mmm. Or plans could be disrupted. Hungry soldiers are trouble.”

            “He’ll feed his soldiers and starve civilians if it comes to it, Wyldon. But without knowing his plans we don’t know how they’ll be affected. All I’m saying is that a cornered wolf is more dangerous.”

            “We did discuss it but the problem’s the same—forces stretched across seven hundred miles in half-a-dozen major forts that we can’t concentrate until we _know_ where Maggur’s army is. Anyway, the other thing is that Runnerspring did pitch a fit, as expected.”

            Kel shrugged. “Did he explain Rogal’s presence at Tirrsmont?”

            “A friendly loan in troubled times.”

            “Of course. And his coming here?”

            “Proper loyalty to Sir Voelden.”

            “That doesn’t wash. Voelden had no right to maintain troops.”

            “And wasn’t, as records show and His Majesty pointed out. But Runnerspring’s registered a complaint, demanding your recall to face questioning. That was flatly refused but the complaint will be heard at Midwinter. It might be an idea to send enquiry and court martial records to the other Councillors ahead of time.”

            “The clerks have finished a dozen copies, Wyldon, and the rest will be done this week. Alanna took one for Lord Ennor, Svein’s delivering to Lord Ferghal, and I’ll draft a covering letter for the others.”

            “Good anticipation. I can’t see what Runnerspring hopes for but he’s always complained about wartime subordination of noble privilege to army rules so he may just want to do so again.”

            “That goes back to Jasson—isn’t it _traditional_ enough yet?”

            “You’d think so, I agree, but although the lords of Runnerspring have always been knights they’ve never been fighters and certainly not army men. I’m still trying to understand what he was doing with a liegeman like Rogal in the first place. I think he genuinely doesn’t understand why King Jasson forced that rule through or why it’s necessary. You don’t look convinced.”

            “I think you’re generous. Though I suppose Tirrsmont’s an argument in your favour— _he_ didn’t understand even with war on his doorstep, and I don’t think war’s touched Runnerspring in generations. I remember Garvey being clueless about the Immortals War when most pages knew exactly what it had involved, and before that you’d have to go back to the Barzun campaign to have active forces anywhere near the inland south-west.” She hesitated. “Do you mind a what-if question?”

            “Try me.”

            “If Genlith _is_ committing treason, does Runnerspring know?”

            He winced. “I’d like to say he wouldn’t do such a thing, but I don’t know any more, Keladry. I’d not have believed Torhelm would do what we now have compelling reason to believe he did. And Runnerspring _is_ close to Genlith, by blood and marriage. Closer than Genlith to Stone Mountain, oddly, but Stone Mountain’s the older and richer fief and its lords have never liked marrying into what they think of as client fiefs. I notice you don’t ask about Lord Burchard.”

            “No.” Kel frowned. “I don’t think he’d countenance open treason with an enemy. Too proud, maybe. And pious, by his lights. Besides, revenge on me aside, I can’t see what Maggur could offer him that could tempt him except the Conté throne, and that doesn’t play.”

            “Your reasoning?”

            “Maggur might offer it but he’d be lying. He wants it himself, and Stone Mountain couldn’t hold it without more support than he’d get, as he must know. And I can’t see grief driving him to prefer vassalage to Maggur—he’s deranged but not stupid. But Genlith now … humiliated by Vinson’s exposure, perhaps already guilty of capital treason, and with Stone Mountain distracted—that’s a potent combination. And Maggur would have had no problem making Genlith an offer he’d jump at.”

            “Of what?”

            “Stone Mountain, for starters.” Wyldon’s eyebrows shot up. “Think about it. _I_ do all the work and Stone Mountain takes the money with disdain. That’s normal. But now he’s so stupid with his son’s death that he won’t help mine condemned to the mines. So Genlith hires it done, using Gallan mercenaries, maybe, and either Maggur hears or is already looking at Genlith because he’s got Blayce and a plan and needs metalwork he can’t do. And if he _did_ conquer Tortall he’d have to kill a lot of people to secure it, but he’d need noble stooges—people to work the administration until he could get his own up to speed. I’m sorry to say it, Wyldon, but I think Genlith would see an opportunity for revenge, advancement, and frankly, to do to Tortall what his son did to women. I _know_ Torhelm would. But I’m not sure about Runnerspring. Given things I’ve heard him say, and the kind of man he raised his son to be, I wouldn’t put it past him. I realise my own bias, but if you wouldn’t put it past him either it needs bearing in mind, Hag take it.”

            She found her fists clenched and relaxed them, giving Wyldon a rueful look. “Sorry. I _hate_ this doublethink. But I’ve done everything I can to strengthen my walls and reinforce the barbican, so I’m down to the commonest way enemies capture fortifications. It makes me cranky.”

            “Understandably. I hadn’t put it together like that, and I see your point. It makes sense of something Sir Myles said, too, so I think he’s probably considering it but I’ll pass it to Vanget and the King. Otherwise we don’t have much choice but to play a waiting game.”

            Kel knew he was right, but didn’t like it. The only option was to go after Maggur directly, and besides the perennial problem of logistics for any invading army even stripping the frontier would barely produce a sufficient force; and if Maggur got any sizeable body of troops past it Tortall would be wide open. If stalemate continued something might have to be done, but it wasn’t going to happen soon; in any case tactical and strategic analysis both said that what was needed was to induce Maggur to commit himself—to stick his neck out, as Rogal had, with the same result.

            More productively, on Lughnasad eve Cloestra’s egg hatched. For reasons Kel didn’t understand but felt were right she had taken to performing her pre-dawn pattern dances on the terrace, before Lord Sakuyo’s shrine, and letting her thoughts drift to memories of Yaman. Baron George and Crooked Kyprioth were in her mind as well, especially after the news that King Oron had died some weeks ago and been succeeded by King Hazarin, who’d promptly died himself, leaving Princess Ijane as regent for a child king, Dunevon—and Mithros knew the trouble that always spelled, even with sane rulers in a stable country. The Baron was headed into a simmering mess, and she remembered Cloestra’s comment that _someone_ was stirring in the Isles; ending the pattern dance she turned towards the immortal, wondering if she knew of the tumbling Rittevon kings, and realised Cloestra was perched on the side of the roost, bending to croon softly and tap her egg with a wingtip. Kel set her glaive by Lord Sakuyo’s shrine and went across.

            “It’s hatching?”

            Cloestra glanced up, steel teeth on show. “Yes.”

            “Do you need anything?”

            “No. It will cut its way out. Won’t you, youngling? Then you can tell us your name.”

            “You hatch knowing your names?”

            “Always. Listen.” She tapped the shell and Kel heard the answering tap within. “It won’t be long. We usually hatch just after dawn.”

            “Do you mind if I send for Daine and Numair?”

            “Send for the world, Protector, for all I care, so long as they stand well clear. My Queen and flock will be here soon.”

            Turning, Kel saw Tobe and his cohort of children, warming up on the green as they waited for her to lead morning practice, and caught his eye. Not wanting to shout she used two fingers to mime a stork’s long-legged stride, pointed to the guest room Daine and Numair were using, and gestured to the crooning stormwing. She saw understanding hit and he gave his spear to Gydo, loping off.

            “Forgive my ignorance, Cloestra, but will the hatchling nurse? Or need … other sustenance?’

            “Only my love, Protector.” Steel teeth flashed. “The playground will be a resource. Queen Barzha told me you are the first person since our return to the mortal realms to realise we feed on all emotions. More than the Stone Tree Nation wait to see how this hatchling fares on the diet of New Hope.”

            Kel’s mind clicked. “Begin as we mean to go on?”

            Cloestra smiled again, with a faint cackle. “By all means, Protector. Yet the newly hatched are clumsy and their wings are not blunt.”

            “Tell the children yourself?” Was that respect in Cloestra’s eyes?

            “I will.”

            Kel trotted over to the children, and by the time they’d stacked cut-down spears by the flagpole, and she’d ushered them to the terrace, Barzha and Hebakh had arrived with a score of others, all notably clean, clustering awkwardly around the roost where the egg was beginning to rock. Seeing Kel approaching Cloestra gestured and the stormwing circle opened, making room; even massed the immortals were not inducing the fear they usually did, but creating a wash of warm tenderness. A moment later Tobe returned with Daine and Numair, wearing belted robes and, Kel suspected, nothing more. The stormwings were beginning to croon, stepping from foot to foot, but Cloestra’s voice rose over them as she welcomed and warned.

            “Younglings of New Hope, listen well. I have control of my wings, as Amiir’aan has control of his rock spell. The hatchling will not, yet its wings will be sharper than mine. It could kill or injure without meaning to do so. Do you beware, and keep your distance these first days until it knows itself free of the egg.” She glanced at Daine. “Even you, Godborn. A newhatched wing will cut godflesh and dragonscale.”

            Numair looked as if he wanted to make notes but children’s eyes were wide and they took a pace back. The egg rocked more violently, scraping, and Cloestra exchanged a look with Barzha.

            “The hatchling has a gift for you, Protector, in payment of its life. Come closer and look.”

            As Kel stepped forward, conscious of Tobe behind her, Cloestra tapped the egg with her wingtip again, scratching at a point just off the top. The answering blow dimpled the shell outward.

            “Next time. Once more.” Cloestra’s croon was urgent, and at the next blow the dimple glowed in its centre. “Next time. Once more.” The dimple burst as a blade a few inches long poked through, slicing down the steel of the shell, and poked again, making a second cut that angled out from the first. Cloestra didn’t look up. “Once more. The blades are on the wing-joint, Protector, to do this job alone—like a bird’s egg-tooth. They are much prized, and the tool you need to cut moulted feathers, for they will cut anything. Once more, once more.”

            A large piece of eggshell fell away. The stormwings’ croon rose and Cloestra leaned forward, intent. Her voice rang strangely pure and brought hissing cries from her queen and kin.

            “Her name is Amourta.”

            A second piece of shell dropped, a third, and two blades poked through, pressing down until cloven steel fell away in halves and with a squawk of triumph Amourta stood free. The wings she extended were covered in steel down, tiny curling feathers whose edges glinted as the light strengthened, though the blades on the joints were jet black. Her human parts were more like a toddler than a newborn: she stood on clawed feet, raising radiant eyes to Cloestra. Cloestra’s head dipped.

            “Amourta.”

            All the stormwings crooned the name with her, triumph in the sound, and Amourta’s gaze swung as each spoke its name, then came to the mortals with curiosity starting in her eyes. Kel spoke her own name, followed by Tobe, Daine, Numair, and all the children. Even more than Sarralyn’s Amourta’s gaze was disconcerting in apparent understanding, but Kel could see tiredness after the struggle of hatching, and with introductions complete shepherded the children back to practice, leaving stormwings to their crooning welcome. Daine and Numair also backed away, and Kel saw their eyes glistening as her own must be.

            At breakfast she announced Amourta’s hatching and Cloestra’s warning, declaring that end of the terrace off-limits unless invited by the stormwing but also asking people to introduce themselves from the main level when they could. Cloestra had become sufficiently familiar and enough information about stormwing difficulties had percolated that most people were genuinely pleased for mother and child, and did go by. Hatching so close to Lughnasad was felt to be auspicious, and at the ceremony next morning Kel gave thanks for Amourta’s life and safety to the Goddess and Green Lady as well as the usual prayers for land and harvest and the other business of the festival.

            That included three handfastings—a Goatstrack lad and Anak’s Eyrie girl, both orphaned, who’d been making eyes for months; a Tirrsmont widow with a Rathhausak widower, who shared a love of plants and cooking and thought they’d suit; and to Kel’s real pleasure Fanche and Saefas. He’d been courting her when Kel met them at Giantkiller more than a year before, and they’d lived openly as a couple since return from Scanra but now wanted to set things on what Fanche called a proper footing. The prospect pleased everyone, but Kel was flummoxed by the request of all three couples that _she_ handfast them: in the absence of a priest it was proper for the most senior official available to celebrate a match, as she did funerals; what bothered her was that everyone involved regarded her as preferable to any priest and a better qualified interlocutor with the divine—so much so they wanted her to marry them when the time came. She’d protested she wasn’t remotely capable as a celebrant but Fanche just laughed.

            “Lady Kel, we saw Archpriest Holloran, remember? The highest divine in the realm, and when Lord Weiryn and his Green Lady appeared he went straight to his knees. Very proper. _You_ invited them to dinner. And only you know how many gods you’ve met but every one I’ve seen you call on answered. What can any priest do that you can’t?”

            Neither the years of study Mithran divines underwent nor Kel’s complete lack of experience in handfasting seemed to bother anyone, and when Kel appealed to Neal he offered no support.

            “I grant there’s university training, Kel, but it’s not like an Ordeal making a knight. And I’d say you’ve learned on the job.” He grinned infuriatingly. “I doubt you’ll find anyone who thinks you aren’t supremely qualified to hatch, match, and despatch.”

            “Except everyone who actually _is_ qualified as a priest!”

            Neal ignored Kel’s exasperated mutter—and appalled her by adding that he and Yuki had been meaning to ask her to conduct Ryokel’s naming at Mabon anyway. She resorted to the spellmirror, asking Wyldon to arrange a firespell connection with Archpriest Holloran. Straight-faced and, she knew, deeply amused he agreed, but even Holloran let her down, listening respectfully and declaring her in a category of her own but certainly an honourable celebrant. With Wyldon and Harailt having difficulty stifling laughter he responded to her continuing unease by blessing her as the celebrant of New Hope and promising to have it noted in the temple’s records and send her registers the courts accepted as proofs of birth, naming, handfasting, marriage, and death. Before he could offer orange robes she managed to thank him and Harailt broke the connection, giving in to chuckles. Wyldon grinned.

            “There’s nothing for it, Keladry, but to agree graciously.”

            She glared. “It’s an army failing, Wyldon. Soldiers can’t marry. Civilians can. So when you put a soldier in charge of a refugee camp you ought to provide for religious necessities.”

            “But they’re not necessities. You have a point, though. I could try indenting for a priest. Mithros alone knows who you’d get.”

            Harailt laughed more than ever and Kel crossly blanked her mirror. After a while the absurdity of it restored her temper, and when the morning of Lughnasad came the business was simple; chimes rang for each couple as she asked the gods to witness promises made, so she ended content and had pleasure relaying the story to her parents.

            There was also the fascination of Amourta’s wing-knives to distract her. They’d dropped off within a day, and with Numair’s help been gingerly gathered, set in petrified hilts, and provided with oversize, locking sheaths. They certainly made fletching easier, trimming steel as if it were ordinary feather, and if there was anything they wouldn’t cut Kel had yet to discover it; even stone yielded with no more pressure than was needed for a metal knife through leather. Numair decided that despite their blackness they were a special form of the silver of immortals’ claws—denser and stronger—and would never blunt. One became part of Kel’s fletching kit; the other, after thought, she had secured at the infirmary for medical use.           

            Hatching and ceremonies cheered everyone, dispersing lingering solemnity after Rogal’s execution. If she was honest Kel had to admit they cheered her too, and so far as deputising for officials went handfasting was preferable to beheading. Even so, lying awake in the warm dark, sheet thrown back, Kel knew what bothered her most in both roles was the way such status set her apart, adding barriers to the loneliness of authority. As she was the one to kill and bury, not the one to die, so she would become the one to marry others, not to be married. She considered the irony of being ignorant of all save her own hands and a tauros yet blessing others’ sexuality and legitimating their children, and knew Lord Sakuyo was laughing as hard as ever.

 

* * * * *

 

Kel gave Brodhelm a month’s leave to visit Frasrlund, a journey he’d wanted to make since news of the end of the siege. When he returned at the beginning of September Mikal would leave for Holtwood; meanwhile, before harvesting required massed field guards, he beefed up patrols and Kel agreed to let Sir Voelden lead one.

            Uinse declined leave, saying he’d no family he cared to visit and regarded New Hope as home, but she gave him ten days off duty, and with Jacut not yet back from Corus Prosper became acting captain of New Hope First, with responsibility for the watch. Knowing he had backup made him less nervous and Kel watched the way he handled himself with approval—he’d learned a great deal from Uinse and was well liked by the men. One or two sought to take advantage of inexperience but he set them right smartly and with humour, and she made it clear she’d noticed as well as prompting renewed effort with the logistics and paperwork even of acting captaincy. He didn’t have much tactical flair and she didn’t think she’d want him in independent field command, but he’d make a good company captain; catching herself in the judgement she realised it seemed normal and proper to do so, though he was only a year below her, and knew another degree of separation.

            When it came to Seaver that sense was painful, more so as while he was conscientious and unflagging in his duties she didn’t think she’d ever want him as a captain; like his light magic his skills beyond combat were limited, and while he wasn’t disliked he wasn’t liked either, in the way Merric had been and Prosper was. It was partly temperament in handling men, but also a certain laziness in not pushing himself; his rudimentary Scanran hadn’t improved, as Prosper’s had, and despite having overcome his fear of spidrens he seemed to accept the various immortals and their interactions without curiosity, which Kel didn’t understand. He had no intention of staying in army service after the war, and she unhappily observed in her annual report on officers that he wasn’t suitable for greater responsibility. She was only grateful Neal as a healer didn’t have to be thought about in that way, and when it came to Dom’s report she spared herself and blandly observed that he was doing an excellent job, referring anyone who wanted more to the reports of the Own.

            Daine completed her flights into Scanra, but Numair remained caught up in experimentation with icelights. Daine in turn was happy to spend time with Sarralyn, who approved, and greatly enlivened a school day by showing children and a fascinated array of adults an astonishing variety of animals, from the fabled icebear to the riverhorse and hyena. That evening after dinner, sitting with her, Sarralyn, and Numair on the green, Kel confessed her dubiety about hyenas from her sight of the Hag’s companion, and heard a passionate defence of their marvellously keen sense of smell with Daine’s version of Ozorne’s deposition. They wound up going to the terrace, where Barzha and Hebakh were visiting Amourta, and Kel happily listened to a long, rambling conversation full of odd reminiscences—Numair speaking of what it felt like to watch one’s own simulacrum executed and what Daine had done in rage, believing him dead; Daine of what she still thought the shameful treatment of the Banjiku by their god, and of marmosets; and the stormwings of the treachery of Jokhun Foulreek and the damage wrought on the Stone Tree Nation. When Rikash Moonsword was recalled Daine surprised both stormwings by saying she and Numair had decided to call a son, when they should have one, Rikash, and Kel went to bed realising she’d call these stormwings friends and wondering what pressure that exerted on the timeway.

            She spent next morning finalising what would be done with the last limestone section of tunnel, mediating functionality, time, and everyone’s understandable desires to make it as defensible as ingenuity could conjure. The square Dom had suggested had been cut tightly, so the end of the tunnel was deeper within the limestone than expected, but they settled on a couple of extra zigs and zags, defensive positions covering the angles, and a mageblast trap like those in the roadway. The gatehouse was only a day short of completion, Amiir’aan and Bel’iira had petrified rooves, the building team would leave within the week for Mastiff and the ravine Wyldon wanted bridging, and Spiir’aan would go to help if the proposed bridge proved feasible. That was all very satisfactory but her afternoon paperwork was interrupted by the spellmirror’s chime, and Wyldon’s face was grave.

            “Keladry, I’m sorry but there’s bad news.”

            Her stomach muscles tightened. “Tell me.”

            “A wolfship attack on Mindelan—eight of them. The Navy ships did well, but two made it ashore. They were stopped in the end but there were casualties, including Sir Conal.”

            She’d been braced to hear Anders or Inness were dead, or her parents, and didn’t know what she felt. “Conal’s dead?”

            “Yes. I’m sorry.”

            “Who else?”

            “None of your family, though Sir Inness was wounded, but thirty-one troops and civilians, as well as sailors. Those numbers aren’t clear.”

            “Thirty-two.”

            “Yes.” He looked his concern. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know you had troubles with Sir Conal but I imagine that makes it harder.”

            She blew out a breath. “Yes, it does. I thought it might be Anders or Inness or my parents, and I despise the relief I feel. Poor Conal. Do you know what happened?”

            “I’m afraid I don’t—Sir Anders got his mage to firespeak with Alanna, who contacted me and the King. And you shouldn’t worry about what you feel, Keladry—that kind of guilty relief is normal. Do you want leave to go to Mindelan?”

            The funeral would have taken place and Brodhelm was away. “No, I don’t think so, Wyldon. Unless Anders is asking for me.”

            “Not that I know.”

            “Then I’ll go that way to Corus by sea at Midwinter. There’s not much point going now, and others are on leave already.”

            “As you will.” He hesitated. “The timing’s interesting.”

            Grief, if that’s what she felt, didn’t seem to have slowed her brain. “An order given when Maggur learned of the ambassadors’ expulsion?”

            “It seems plausible.”

            “Poor Mindelan.”

            “You’re not responsible, Keladry.”

            “I know. Maggur is, and men who obey him. Yet this would not have happened were I unborn. Or if I hadn’t burned Rathhausak.”

            Wyldon shifted, looking uncomfortable. “You don’t know that.”

            She managed a half-smile. “It seems plausible. Don’t fret—it’s no different from ordering men to their deaths. It just hits harder when it’s home. I must tell Heliana. You don’t have a casualty list?”

            “No. I’ll try to get one. Heliana’s your private clerk?”

            “Yes. A ward of father’s. Names will mean more to her than me.”

            That proved true, though fortunately those Heliana knew were only casual acquaintances—farmers and labourers mostly, a circumstance explained by the letter from Anders that reached Kel a few days after the list Wyldon had had Harailt procure by firespell.

_Mindelan_  
_9 August 462_

_My dearest Keladry,_

_You will know by now of the attack by wolfships we suffered two days past, and that Conal has been taken from us. I spoke with him dying, and am charged to offer you and Tobeis his apologies and convey the pride he had come to feel in your achievements._

_He died well, saving many. The wolfships that evaded the Navy drove ashore south of the harbour, and the Scanrans caught people still in the fields. Conal and Inness rode to help, outpacing others. I lagged behind with my cursed leg, and by the time I got there it was all but done—Inness has cuts to his arm and side, but Conal was unhorsed, and though he got himself upright took a body wound he could not survive. When Inness and I were by him he was far gone, but clearly asked your forgiveness. Inness believes he was thinking of his mistaken sympathy for the former lord of Tirrsmont. I am unsure, but wonder if he might not have been remembering the way he bullied you when you were young, in the way they say your life passes before your eyes. Perhaps you know better than I. Whatever he meant he next said he was sorry not to have apologised to Tobeis—I do not know for what—and his last words were “Tell her I have tried to be worthy of her”._

_We buried him in the little graveyard beyond the orchard, where Grandpa Mindelan and his wives lie. The others who died that day are buried there too, so it is now almost full. When the Black God’s priest ended with the blessing divine chimes sounded, as they do for the dedication of a shrine or the swearing of a gods’ oath, and there was a strange sound—a wind amid silence, such as I have never heard. The priest said he believed it to be the god’s own voice. Sir Alanna suggested we ask you about it, and if you can tell us more, Keladry, please do—it has caused much wondering._

_Conal was never happy, and I often wished he had found the right woman and married. But it was not to be. I hope and pray the chimes and that sound mean he has found solace in the Peaceful Realms._

_When shall we see you and Tobeis? I know you bear great responsibilities, little sister, and everyone speaks of the marvel of New Hope, but please come when you can. We miss you, and are eager to meet Tobeis. Vorinna and Tilaine—and Inness of course—and the children join me in sending you our love, and what comfort we can in shared grief._

_Written with sorrow by your brother,_

_Anders_

Tobe and Dom, coming from a session with the horses, found her silent at her desk with the letter before her, cheeks wet. Tobe knew of Conal’s death but Dom didn’t—she’d seen no reason to make any announcement. Mutely she passed the letter to Tobe, and distantly admired even as she hated the restraint Dom showed in not looking over his shoulder as he frowningly made his way through Anders’s spidery hand. He passed the letter to Dom, not asking permission, and before she could object came round the desk to grasp her in a hug, resting his head on her shoulder.

            “Will you help me tell the Black God I accept his apology and he should rest peaceful, Ma?”

            “Of course I will, sweeting.” Her arms were around him, tears still leaking, blurring Dom’s face as he read. “Of course I will.”

            Finishing, Dom half reached a hand but let it fall back to his side. “I’m sorry, Kel. How long have you known?”

            “A few days. The letter came today.”

            “You didn’t say. I thought you’d been quiet.”

            “There wasn’t any point. No-one else here will mourn him.”

            She saw him bite off a retort and wondered what it would have been. “That’s not the point, Kel.” His voice became sergeant-brisk. “What was it in Sir Anders’s letter that’s made you cry?”

            “Worthy of _me_.” Leaking gathered into sobs and this time he did come to her, resting a hand awkwardly on her free shoulder as Tobe’s arms tightened hard. Shame she couldn’t have described swirling in her, she forced tears down, feeling the headache start. “Who am I my brother should die being worthy of me? It’s alright, Dom—I just don’t much like what the gods have done to me, and right now it seems very wrong that I’m alive to know Conal isn’t. I’m sure whatever happens next will drive it out of my mind.”

            Startled he fixed blue eyes on her. “You sound like an old campaigner, Kel.”

            “I feel like one. Last year counts as several lifetimes. Literally.”

            He gave a bleak smile. “And figuratively. But that’s not the point. When old campaigners say that, they’re coping. It’s not true. And from what Sir Anders says, if Sir Conal knew what you were feeling he’d be shocked out of what wits he had.”

            The headache lessened with her involuntary smile. “He probably would. Poor Conal. His spirit must be as confused as he always was, but he never lacked heart. And I know the Black God has him safe. It’s just … I don’t know.”

            Tobe lifted his head to look at her. “You think the timeway thing means you’re affecting everything? Because Mindelan was attacked in revenge for burning Rathhausak and killing that Nothing Man?”

            “Not really, Tobe. It just feels like it today.” She looked at Dom through eyes that were still blurry. “It’s your joke theory of the timeway spiral again, Dom. Up at the sharp end. _Sakuyo’s laughter— / very many hot needles / and infinite grace._ ” Did the god draw breath?

            Dom frowned. “Is that Yamani poetry?”

            “Of a sort. Ask Neal—he’s the poetry man, whatever Yuki says.”

            “Point. But jokes and poetry aren’t so far apart, Kel.”

            “In Wolset’s case, certainly.”

            The laugh burst from him but it was her heart that felt eased, and she gently disengaged Tobe, fishing out a handkerchief to dry her eyes.

            “It’s good to hear you laugh, Dom. And you should prepare yourself—my Lord says he’ll send Wolset and the lads over some time to see you. Tobe, let’s go see if the Black God’s willing to pass on a message.”


	19. Loneliness

**Chapter Nineteen — Loneliness**

_16 August – 15 September_

 

Harvesting began and Adner was not the only one jubilant at the goddess’s bounty. Yields were high, quality good, work uninterrupted by alarms, and the only problem again a shortage of sacks and jars, remedied by woodturners and weavers. The reserves that began to pile up as grains were threshed, berries picked, and roots dug were a tangible self-sufficiency, enhanced for Kel by the shortages Maggur would face, but in her military heart she was better pleased with the completion of tunnel and corral work: it harmonised better with grief.

            The journey from cave to corral was eerie, and Kel knew the first time she made it she’d come here when she couldn’t sleep. The long straight through the fin, darkness stretching away on either side, made her conscious of unknown tons of rock above and depths below. Beyond the straight, lighter limestone was a relief, and the defences would gladden any commander. At each corner of the tunnel defensive positions with arrowloops were cut on either side and petrified grids could be locked into place. The tunnel mouth had first emerged twelve feet above ground level, and the descending slope into which the last section had been transformed concealed a mageblast trap over a spiked pit. If it ever had to be blown attackers would face an opening higher than any man’s reach, barred and approachable only through a forest of obsidian enfiladed by more arrowloops from a short, parallel tunnel cut on the outer side.

            Kel’s biggest problem was organisational. As things stood Mastiff Eighth had responsibility for patrolling, Northwatch Fourteenth for field guard, and New Hope First for walls; Connac’s squad were supernumeraries, rotating wherever was short-handed. On paper, ignoring Dom’s irregular command, manning corral and tunnel defences was Uinse’s responsibility, but with three shifts to cover he’d be badly stretched and Kel wanted New Hope Second formed under Dom’s command. She’d started negotiations with Vanget and Wyldon during the commanders’ conference, asking for priority on new convict squads. There weren’t as many volunteers this year, but should be five squads, and she didn’t mind an understrength company if she could properly constitute it _as_ a New Hope company. Vanget had hummed and hawed, but gave in. The convicts wouldn’t arrive for several weeks, and Kel detached Connac’s squad and another to keep a skeleton watch at the corral. Numair set up a magelink to New Hope’s gatehouse; a farrier began setting up; and despite the extra distance to walk Dom moved to the secondary headquarters in the corral.

            Horses needed accustoming to the tunnel. Tobe and Zerhalm once more worked wonders, Peachblossom and Alder taking point and guard to walk strings through and back again. Daine eased the way by collectively assuring horses and ponies that, however strange the stone road, it was safe. At the same time she had strings led by the roadway to the corral’s main entrance, while others returned that way: she didn’t know if they were under observation, by Scanrans or anyone else, but if they were had no intention of making it obvious an interior passage to the corral had been opened.

            By the same lights, when she gave building team and tunnellers a feast before Geraint departed, she asked those leaving to be close-mouthed about what they’d done. She had unexpected rewards to offer—black-opal matrix she’d solicited with royal permission from Lady Maura, received with bliss by Amiir’aan and Bel’iira; and for Geraint, on behalf of his team, a model of New Hope she’d helped Tobe carve with Amourta’s wing-blade from river sand Var’istaan had lightly bonded. After they’d painstakingly detailed walls and buildings, the basilisk treated the sand again, hardening and properly colouring; the whole was striking and she could see Geraint was touched. He made a good speech saying New Hope was an education, mentioned his desire in peace to undertake civil architecture with basilisk and ogre partners, and sketched appealing imaginations of spaces that were enjoyable and beautiful rather than defensive. Replying briefly, and thinking that in this, as in other things, she’d start as she meant to go on, Kel made it clear to all in the team that they’d always be welcome at New Hope, to visit or settle, and suggested how much building would be needed when a fief was established. New Hope had great strengths but, in the nature of the refugees and convict soldiers who constituted the majority of the founding population, farming, mining, general labouring, trapping, and woodworking were common and urban trades, from building to healing and Dogging, severely underrepresented. She had notions to remedy the deficiency, including the Craftsbeings’ Guild and the university of mortal and immortal cooperation, but ducal elevation of Mindelan with the work that would demand cut off one source she might have tried, recruiting directly from other fiefs would not be popular, and people like these builders and craftsmen-artisans could make a big difference.

            The partying went on long after she’d retired. Laughter drifting up from the green kept her awake a while and followed her into uneasy dreams filled with drifts of blossom under leaden winter skies. After pre-dawn glaive practice and the children’s weapons class she felt virtuous watching heavy-eyed builders drag themselves to the messhall, but waved farewell an hour later with a sharp sense of loss. Geraint had become a friend, and though she couldn’t broach command issues with him, nor relax into the acerbic humour she shared with Dom, his conversation had been a boon, filled with unusual buildings and not dominated by war or pointless but unavoidable worry about the timeway.

            With impeccable timing Jacut and his men returned the same day to be happily startled by progress in their absence. All seemed to walk taller than they had; most who’d gone with Jacut were Corus people who hadn’t expected to see family again for a long time, if ever. She’d told Jacut to take a few days before starting back but in the event he’d been spared that decision, as he explained drinking tea in her office.

            “After we delivered the coffin and ring, Lady Kel, we was given rooms in the Own’s barracks and told to wait on ’Is Majesty’s pleasure. I asked if the lads could see family an’ they said yes but them as saw the battle or what ’appened to poor Sir Merric should stay available. Well, that was all of us, so I made sure I knew where they was going to be an’ ’ad ’em all check twice a day at the … at an inn what everyone uses.”

            Kel quirked an eyebrow. “Would that be the _Dancing Dove_?”

            He grinned. “Yus, it would. Shoulda known you’d know, Lady Kel. I ’ad a quiet word with its owner, if you knows who I mean, an’ while I didn’t say nothin’ I shouldn’t I did say ’ow all us former felons was doin’ here. ’E was very glad to ’ear it, ’avin’ hacquaintance among us as you might say, and asked me to send you ’is thanks and respects.”

            Kel abruptly had a variety of thoughts culminating in the notion that she ought perhaps to pay the owner of the _Dancing Dove_ a visit herself. There was that business of his stand against men who hurt women, and the Protector’s Maids, as well as other things that might be explored. Her attention came back to Jacut.

            “It was four days before we was summoned but then we found ourselves talkin’ not just to ’Is but ’Er Majesty too, an’ the Prince and Princess. You coulda knocked me down with a feather, Lady Kel—I ’aven’t been so surprised since that Dog’s ’and landed on me shoulder. But they was all friendly, an’ at first just wanted to ’ear about the battle an’ what we seen of Sir Merric an’ Rogal.” He paused. “’Is Majesty said you did give ’im the chop yourself, Lady Kel?” She nodded and Jacut pursed his lips. “So we told ’em what we seen, an’ ’Er Majesty asked about that shot at Vinson an’ the bow, with the Prince and Princess chippin’ in about ’ow they’d seen it when Lord Weiryn give it you. An’ they wanted to know what we thought about immortals, an’ ’ow everything was ’ere at New Hope, so we told ’em—Sir Neal treatin’ us all an’ the immortals an’ everything. ’Is Majesty seemed to know a lot already, mind, and ’e ’ad the layout clear as a bell.”

            Kel thought explanation best kept simple. “He had me make him a plan.” She made a mental apology to the elemental, amused at herself.

            “Musta been a goodun, Lady Kel. Anyway, it was more than an ’our before they let us go, _thankin’_ us”—he seemed more incredulous at that than anything—“an’ tellin’ us not to say a word to anyone about Vinson before ’is death’s announced. Which we ’aven’t.” An accusing note entered his voice. “You didn’t warn me we’d be up for a grillin’ by _them_.”

            Kel offered laughing apology. “I’m sorry—it didn’t occur to me, though I suppose it should have. I expect Their Majesties wanted a different view from the one they usually get. We have been surprising people, rather.”

            Mikal grinned. “We have, Lady Kel, but I imagine there might have been other reasons too. Still, I’m glad to know His Majesty doesn’t think it beneath him to do something like that.”

            “Mmm.” Curious, Kel risked a dangerous question. “What did your lads make of it all?”

            He blinked. “I don’t rightly know, Lady Kel, though we talked about it enough ridin’ back. We did agree ’Er Majesty really was Peerless, an’ the Prince and Princess seem good people—they said they remembered us from their visit.”

            “They probably do, Jacut. They practice remembering names and faces. Besides, who could forget you?”

            He grinned. “Ah. We thought they was bein’ polite like, but I’ll tell the lads we shouldn’t ’ave doubted ’em. But ’Is Majesty … I dunno, to be honest. ’E’s a ’andsome cove with them blue eyes, and ’e was nice as pie, but I reckon you gotta be pretty twisty if you’re wearin’ shoes that big. I don’t think I’d like to be one as got on ’is bad side.” Uinse laughed and Jacut grinned. “Personal like, I mean. There’s no ’elpin the other now.”

            “Oh but there is, Jacut.” Kel’s soft voice brooked no contradiction. “You and Uinse bear no convict marks, do you? The army might not seem like it but you walk free. Rathhausak cancelled all debts. And Their Majesties don’t entertain felons, do they? Think of the fuss there’d be. But they take time to talk to soldiers on a confidential mission.”

            Leaving them to ponder it she turned conversation to the imminent formation of New Hope Second, and whether they should transfer one or two squads from the First, replacing them with new men, to give the fledgling Second backbone. Uinse was reluctant—no commander liked to see familiar faces transferred out—but promised to discuss it with Dom. There was also staffing the lookout post that would soon crown the fin. The steps were within fifty feet of the crest, and had switched back to aim for a hump of rock that rose an extra fifteen feet; besides the question of what the post itself should best look like there was its addition to the First’s duties and whether, given its greater range and field of view, enabling communication with patrols in valleys to the west, it should also be on Mastiff Eighth’s roster. Final decisions couldn’t be made until the lines of sight were established, but she was glad to get them thinking and let them go, reminding Uinse to make sure Jacut and all who’d travelled introduced themselves to Amourta.

            The stormwing was growing fast and had already begun to moult her down—carefully collected, though Kel couldn’t decide what use it might have—and grow flight feathers. When not experimenting with icelights a baffled Numair was trying to understand how Amourta was able to manufacture steel in such quantities out of nothing, but Kel just filed it under ‘immortal magic’; what interested her was diet and she’d watched the way Cloestra was introducing her chick to mortal emotions, and the special attractions of the playground. Cloestra seemed to be teaching her Tortallan, Common, Scanran, and Yamani all at once; her grasp of them was already formidable, and Kel had several times found Yuki taking advantage, chatting with both stormwings in Yamani with Ryokel bouncing on her knees and absorbing her mother’s tongue. Yuki also insisted on speaking Yamani at home one day a week, but remarked to Kel, dimpling, that Neal’s pronunciation, grammar, and modality were not examples she wished Ryokel to follow and Cloestra knew all modes perfectly as well as having a good accent. Having spent so much time looking after her in the egg Amiir’aan also had a proprietary interest, and could often be found talking to Amourta in any of the tongues she was learning; Chervey might also be there, apparently intent. What he might learn was moot but he was already a very different young man than the one Gothas had found easy to persuade.

            Seeing the lad with the strange companions he’d made reminded Kel and she went to find the older Rathhausak couple who’d taken in Freja Haraldsdottir’s son and the other Scanran orphan. A long discussion left her feeling pretty much everything that could be done was being done—the children were thriving, edging into chattering toddlerdom, and the resources allocated for their care were being used. There were no other Scanran children except Irnai, but in a way that was for the good as the boys' natural playmates were Tortallan and the words they were beginning to learn as much Tortallan as Scanran, with Common thrown in. They’d also lost any fear of Amiir’aan, Bel’iira, and ogre children, and Freja's son seemed to have no ill memory of Kel from the gatehouse, extending a chubby hand to pull her hair. How they’d fare in the longer term Kel had no way of knowing but decided her consciousness of their isolation was exaggerated. Yes, they were Scanrans among enemies, and anomalous among New Hope’s Scanrans, but they were unaware of that and by the time they learned should have established identities as New Hopers. She had a kind of envy—not for their misfortunes, but the possibility of overcoming them. It was an ugly echo of her consciousness of the price command exacted on friendship, community, and integration, and she left as unsettled as she’d arrived.

            A couple of days later Geraint appeared in the spellmirror to say the ravine by Mastiff was bridgeable and request Spiir’aan. Kel sent the basilisk off with an escort despite his protests.

            “We look after our own and that’s you. I’d be grateful if you could help Lord Wyldon with any petrification that might aid his defences—the abatis, obviously, but also fireproofing. He’s an excellent district commander but not always, um, imaginative about innovations.”

            Basilisks’ eyes didn’t really twinkle. “Of course, Protector.”

            Watched the party go she wondered what widening exposure to New Hope’s collaborative model might do. An answer of sorts came when her report to Wyldon was dominated by his bemused account of the popularity Spiir’aan had earned by petrifying the abatis—“You could _shave_ with the edges he’s put on those spikes, Keladry”—and noticing a problem with a spring where seepage was making for much boot-cleaning.

            “He politely requested some men, had a sough dug, and petrified its base and sides as well as an area round the spring so the footing’s always good. The men are, well, ecstatic wouldn’t be too strong. They’re asking me what they can do by way of thanks, and I don’t have the first idea.”

            Feeling revenged for his amusement about handfastings, Kel blandly recommended black-opal matrix and went about her day with a smile she didn’t realise people noted with pleasure and relief.

 

* * * * *

 

Punctilious as ever, Brodhelm returned on the last day of August and Mikal left in turn. Kel granted leave to those wounded in May and at Scything Wheat whose homes were close enough, and half-a-dozen went with Mikal. She saw them off with Brodhelm and walked the alure with him, Nari on her shoulder, while he told her about Frasrlund.

            “It was odd, Lady Kel. I’m not sure what I expected, but worse damage certainly. The land’s in bad shape—where Scanrans camped it’s horribly poached and soiled, and foraging’s done a lot of harm. Every tree for a couple of miles bar fruit orchards was taken for firewood and even some of those were cut last winter. It looks as if they lost a lot of men to illness too, and didn’t or couldn’t burn them so there are shallow graves all over we’ll have to do something about—a filthy business that’ll be. But the city’s hardly touched. Lord Ennor and Sir Alanna did a fine job, and since you stopped the killing devices there haven’t been many casualties on our side, even in combat. Everyone looks pinched but they’re not so badly off and know it.”

            “So morale’s good?”

            “Yes. Not like here, though. It made me realise what I’d got used to. Our people are proud to be here and often you don’t even have to ask them once. They’ve a snap missing at Frasrlund.”

            “Well, a siege must be different. At least we get out and about between raids. How was your family?”

            “Oh, well enough. It was nice to see them, of course, and my sister’s had another bairn since I was there last—a son. He seems bonny, but she’s become as much a matchmaker as my ma and kept introducing me to her unwed friends.” He laughed self-consciously. “It was a change but I got tired of everyone looking astonished every time I said anything. That’s something else I’ve come to take for granted—the way we mix in, nobles, knights and commoners, mortals and immortals, children and adults. But I’d only to mention an immortal or Rathhausakers or pretty much anything and you’d think I announced the sky was yellow and the sun blue. I’d expected that about big events—Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady visiting, and the Prince and Princess. That’s only natural. And Quenuresh. But I’d forgotten how scared most are of any immortal. Made me think of Gothas and Chervey.”

            “I suppose. But they had less excuse—they could see basilisks and ogres not harming anyone, and still chose to attack a child. If you’ve not _seen_ it, though, it must seem a tall tale.”

            “Yes, that’s it—they seemed to think New Hope a fabled place, like wherever it was Sir Alanna won the Dominion Jewel.”

            “Chitral Pass.” Kel recalled Alanna’s account of a dire snowstorm and great rock ape. “But that’s thousands of miles away and no Tortallan except the Lioness has been there. We’re right here.”

            “I said that too, but it made no odds. They wanted to hear about it, mind, but like I was a minstrel telling of a magic castle.” He glanced at her sidelong. “And a warrior queen.”

            “Eh?”

            He stopped by a crenel equidistant from sentries, looking out, and she leant against the merlon, gathering seed from her pocket for Nari.

            “You, Lady Kel. They knew about you as a page, of course, and your success jousting—that made rounds everywhere, I think. So did your report, of course. But they seem to have had plenty of other news and mashed it all together so it makes no sense at all. I told them you weren’t really ten feet tall and still put yourself on all the work rosters but I don’t think they believed me.”

            Kel shook her head, as much annoyed as embarrassed. “What other news? The tauros thing?”

            “Well, that was in there, but I’m not sure they quite understood. It was more what happened in Corus, with Torhelm and that assassin.”

            “Ah. Did I order gods to strike Torhelm or do it myself?”

            “A bit of both, and they had you impervious to knives and dissolving Tirrsmont single-handed. There was also a wild story about a snowfight with dragons.”

            “Oops.”

            He stared at her. “You _did_ have a snowfight with dragons?”

            “Yes—only Kawit and Kitten. Lord Diamondflame watched. It _was_ Midwinter Day.”

            “Oh. Well of course—what else does anyone do on Midwinter Day?”

            “Pish. We were keeping the children amused.” She told him the story. “I was going to blame Alanna for telling tales at Frasrlund but she wasn’t around for that. I suppose a lot of people saw—there was a crowd by the end, sheltering under Diamondflame’s wing and cheering children on. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of it from Tobe or Irnai—they told the tale when we were snowed in.”

            “I shall consult them.” He smiled gravely. “And perhaps I should have given folk more credit but I got annoyed about it. They didn’t seem to see you as a person any more.”

            Kel looked out over the valley, watching one of the griffins return to their cave, and didn’t look at him. “Neal and Yuki say I took care of that here with that pail. Did you tell them _that_ story?”

            “I was asked, yes, but they already knew it. And not from the Lioness, Lady Kel—her escort, I think. It had grown in telling, though, so I gave a true version. I think they preferred the exaggerated one.”

            “How was it—no, I don’t want to know.” She reached to stroke Nari’s head. “As a child I dreamed of being a knight like the Lioness, because she helped people and kept them safe. Then I became The Girl, with half Tortall thinking they knew me and had the right to say anything that crossed their minds. I loved it in the Own because I could fool myself I was just one of them, and get on with whatever the job was, like everyone else. Now I do help people and keep them safe, and I wonder how Alanna survived it. Her temper doesn’t surprise me at all.” She saw he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

            “You didn’t, Lady Kel. I was just surprised—you don’t usually say things like that and you’re always so calm.”

            “Except when I’m not. But it doesn’t matter.”

            “Yes it does.” He hesitated. “Forgive me, but how old are you?”

            “Twenty, just after Midsummer.”

            “Twenty.” She saw him blink. “You were eighteen at Rathhausak?”

            “Yes. Not long nineteen when I died.”

            “I don’t suppose age makes any odds to _that_ , but for the rest … when I was twenty I’d just made corporal and thought I was doing very well. I couldn’t have begun to do what you’re doing here. But Sir Neal’s right—that pail made me think differently about what it costs you. I don’t suppose there’s much I can do, but if ever there is, you shout.”

            Moved, she rested a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Brodhelm, I will. Just keep remembering I’m only a person, eh? It’ll be easier, I hope, when peace comes and we don’t have to have such tight security and discipline all the time. As it is I have to stand apart anyway—that’s command. And people will get used to living with immortals—for better or worse they’re here and it’s a lot nicer if we get on.” A thought struck her. “When they’ve a chance you should invite your family to see the reality themselves. It even works with Quenuresh, after a while. But the gods are another story. Even my friends stand further away these days, except Neal and Yuki—and Owen, I suppose, not that I’ve seen him for a while. And that’s hard.” She’d never felt so lonely, in truth, but to say so would be a step too far. “Ah well. Moaning does no good. You should see Amourta—she’s growing feathers faster than you’d think possible.”

            He accepted the change of subject and they headed for the terrace, then the tunnel, which he hadn’t seen complete. From a comment Neal made Kel knew Brodhelm must have spoken to him about her mood, and Yuki made a point of inviting her to eat more often, affording her company where she didn’t have to guard her tongue so fiercely and could forget the space that seemed to surround her with everyone else but Tobe. Dom often ate with Neal and Yuki too, and seemed more at ease, able to mention the aching benefit to his leg of walking back and forth from the corral. All three were busy with plans for Ryokel’s nameday, especially when a grandmaternal letter confirmed Duchess Wilina would indeed be coming. So would Alanna, like Kel standing as godsmother; but who to ask as godsfather was an urgent puzzle. Neal had intended to ask Merric, and considered asking Baron George, only to discover he was away and Alanna wouldn’t say when he’d be back. Kel thought she’d better not say anything about Rajmuat, though she wondered whether he’d found Aly yet, if she was still alive. Keiichi would have been a solution but wasn’t available, and with less than three weeks to go an answer came to Kel.

            “Yuki, did you not want to ask Cricket?”

            “Of course, Keladry- _chan_ , but we already have two godsmothers. She is sorry but understands.”

            “Well, as you want me to officiate I could step back.” Yuki looked thunderous and Kel hurried on, wisely skipping her case that she didn’t entirely believe she’d be alive to do Ryokel any good and wasn’t sure she’d wish herself on anybody to begin with. “But I was thinking you should ask Roald. You’ve always got on with him, Neal, and he’s a good man—if there’s a bit of transfer from Shinko he’d understand. He’s at Northwatch so he could get here, and if you got Numair to firespeak to Corus Cricket could come with your mother, couldn’t she?”

            Neal smote his forehead. “I’m an idiot. That’s perfect, Kel. And Mother will be delighted to bring Shinko.”

            Yuki liked it also. “It will be good to see Cricket—a year exactly. It will be like a reunion from the dedications.”

            The thought struck them all except Dom simultaneously, and he looked surprise at their mutual expression. “What is it?”

            “We had other visitors then, Dom.” Feeling the irreverence that increasingly possessed her as a balance for the reverence that pressed on her Kel made her hands into antlers, raising them to her head, and Yuki’s hand flashed up to cover her face. “Daine’s here, and we owe her Ma and Da big thanks—so will they pay a return visit too?”

            “Oh. Ah.” Dom might have become used to much that passed as normal at New Hope, but not having been here for the most spectacular manifestation of the divine he didn’t have the same apprehension of gods dropping in for dinner as a serious possibility. When Kel consulted Daine, though, she grinned and shook her head.

            “I’ll pass on the invitation but I doubt it, Kel. There are rules about manifesting, and both Ma and Da have already been given a lot of leeway.” A sadness showed in her face. “I do get to talk to them quite often now, and I’m allowed to visit occasionally, but there are limits. And we’re likely to ask another indulgence before too long—we want to try for another child and Ma won’t want to miss a nameday of our own.”

            Kel hugged her. “Of course—luck with that.” She said nothing of intelligence gathering but felt considerable alarm at the prospect of continued blindness. “I wouldn’t want them to think we were ungrateful, and I’m not sure how best to express our —my—thanks for their gifts.”

            “I’m sure they know, Kel, but I’ll tell them. And the care you give all children will make Ma fair content. Da’s harder to please and I don’t know him as well, besides him having been a god forever. But he’ll have liked that bowshot, so why not give him an arrow you’ve fletched? He’ll appreciate the thought.”

            “Huh. Alright.” She had Amourta’s down and the blade that would trim it, though what the virtues of such fletching might be she had no idea. “Thanks. So long as we’re giving no offence, Daine. And I’m glad you and Numair will be here again.”

            “Us too, Kel, but we’ll have to go straight afterwards. Kitten’s been without us too long. We should have gone already but Numair’s caught up with icelights and watching Amourta’s moult has been wonderful.”

            Kel was surprised they’d stayed so long, and nodded. She’d miss Daine badly, not just as the only person with whom she didn’t have to be so careful about gods—or not careful in the same way—but Kitten shouldn’t be deprived and Kel would be travelling south for Midwinter. Any doubt they’d be going evaporated a few days later, when an excited Numair summoned Kel from her desk, talking too fast to be understood.

            “I think I’ve cracked it, Kel. I had it all back to front. Brodhelm, Varik, and Quenuresh used ice that froze naturally—perfectly sensible, of course, but it meant it had frozen unevenly, at different rates, and there are flaws, inclusions—all sorts of things. I thought those were what was having the effects I was sensing and the problem was I couldn’t see how to duplicate them magically but you don’t have to.”

            He beamed at her and Kel smiled cautiously back. “You don’t?”

            “No, they’ve nothing to do with it. They were actually making the lights _less_ efficient, which is what I would have expected. The property we want is an interference between that mode of rock spell, which keeps petrified ice translucent, and the spell Quenuresh used to let Varik’s Gift enter the lattice. And she taught me that spell, which isn’t special spidren magic, like their webbing, just a spidren way of doing things, so all we need is more petrified ice.”

            “Oh. Well, good. It won’t be cold enough for a while, though.”

            He laughed. “We don’t need to wait for winter, Kel. Come and see.” They headed for the spring, collecting Var’istaan from the woodshops where he was making stoneware. “I can teach Varik, Forist, and Anner the freezing spell, and Quenuresh of course. I bet basilisks can do it anyway—it’s only reverse heating. You’ll need moulds but I can’t wait for those so I’ll shape the water magically.”

            “You will?”

            He grinned at her. “Yes, I will. Watch.”

            Standing by the cistern black fire sparked at his fingertips, and he drew a thick ribbon of water into the air, accumulating into a quivering mass hanging in the air in front of him. Kel stepped hastily back but not a drop spilled as Numair contemplated it, frowning, before shaping it into a hollow circle.

            “I think that torus shape will be efficient. Now …”

            Abruptly the water-circle was engulfed in black fire and Numair spoke a word in what Kel thought must be Old Thak. She felt a ripple of heat pass her followed by a wash of cold like a breath of winter in the mild air, and when she’d blinked sudden tears from her eyes at its bite the black fire had cleared and the water had the sheen of ice.

            “There. Var’istaan, can you petrify that, please, keeping the rock clear as you did with the natural ice.”

            The basilisk moved forward, positioning himself so only the ice circle was between him and the cliff. The familiar shrieking avalanche of the rock spell sounded, with rumbling modulations Kel recognised from rendering spikes into obsidian; as the echo died Numair summoned the petrified circle to his hand and set it on the ground. The sun was high enough to shine over the fin, and the newmade rock gleamed.

            “All we should need to do now is set Quenuresh’s facilitating spell into the rock-ice, _without_ any light … this is _such_ an odd way of using magic but it must have made sense to a spidren once … and there we go.” Kel could see no difference. “It needs to fill, but a few minutes should be enough for a start. Then we’ll see if it’s holding what falls on it.”

            They wound up waiting longer, because Numair fell into discussion with Var’istaan about modulations of the rock spell. Kel couldn’t follow at all but when she coughed he looked up.

            “Sorry, Kel. It’s fascinating. Now, let’s have some shadow here.”

            He scattered black fire into a sheet that blocked the sunlight and below it they could all see the rock circle glimmering light.

            “Excellent—it’s nice to be right about something. And it’s really not complicated, if you’ve a handy basilisk.” He grinned at Var’istaan. “So what shapes was it you were wanting, Kel? Pillars for the roadway?”

            “Yes—three or four for the roadway and some for the moatbridge, the road to the stonebridge, the stonebridge itself, and the corral. Long thin strips for the edges of things and the cave system would be good too. And maybe some small ones for the shrines.”

            “Right.” He paused. “They won’t charge with light in the caves, Kel—they have to be outside. I can make you magelights.”

            “If we’ve a stock of icelights we can rotate them. Put them on brackets and swap in one that’s been outside at the start of a shift.”

            “Oh, right. That’s a good idea. But let me do those pillars while we’re all here. Ready, Var’istaan?”

            Before Kel could say anything more water was rising from the cistern and forming a long column a foot square with flat ends. She stood back as the rock spell sounded again, explaining to interested observers what they were doing. After an hour there were a score of full-size pillars, half-a-dozen smaller ones three feet long and only six inches square, and a pile of smaller rods that Numair had been able to shape, and Var’istaan to petrify, five at a time. Wiping his brow Numair set Quenuresh’s spell in all, and straightened, coming towards her where she stood with people she’d sent for while he and Var’istaan worked—Daine, carrying Sarralyn, Brodhelm, Varik, Kuriaju, and Idrius Valestone.

            “There you go, Kel. I can do more if you need and Var’istaan’s willing, but that should be enough to start with. Hi Mageletlet.” He bent to kiss Sarralyn, who beamed.

            “They’re wonderful, Numair.” Kel laid a hand on his arm. “But we need to talk about this. Under the terms of the Guild charter all basilisk work goes through it, and there’s going to be a _big_ demand for these. So I think you’ve just become a member.”

            “Oh I wasn’t thinking about that sort of thing, Kel.”

            “You’re going to think about it now. I won’t have the Guild fail to give due credit and mageletlets cost money, you know.” Daine grinned and Kel reached a finger for Sarralyn to grasp. “Oh yes you do. And if you don’t want to spend it now, Numair, save it for her dowry.”

            Giving orders for pillars to be set up on the roadway and others taken to the corral she shepherded everyone to the conference room. Besides making sure everyone got a fair share, including a pleased Varik and the absent Quenuresh, she had other concerns: the army could use icelights and shouldn’t be impeded by cost any more than the lower city in Corus, but if the King wanted his Palace grounds lighting or rich nobles their seats there was no reason they shouldn’t pay well. No-one had a problem with that but it was nice to see Numair looking bemused as Idrius discussed ways of making sure appropriate prices were charged. Then Brodhelm pointed out Merric had been involved in the original idea.

            “I was wanting lights but he was the one who dragged Varik to see Quenuresh, Lady Kel. It wouldn’t have happened without him.”

            She pondered. “We’ll include Merric’s estate as a beneficiary on equal footing. I’ll see what his parents want to do with the money.”

            Quenuresh’s consent would be needed but eventually Idrius went off with a pile of notes. Daine had left when Sarralyn grew bored with adults not paying attention; Kel and Numair found them with Cloestra and Amiir’aan before the shrines, watching Amourta glide awkwardly from terrace to main level, squeaking excitement, and being carried back up by Amiir’aan, wings tightly furled for safety, so she could do it again. Cloestra looked very pleased with herself and the world.

            “She will be flying properly in a week, once muscles strengthen.”

            “So soon? I thought you’d said it would be three months.”

            “I had not considered the advantages of being among other kinds and having steps. A hatchling in an eyrie cannot practice gliding like this unless there is no danger on the ground and there are two adults to return her to the eyrie in a sling. Neither our teeth nor claws are good for grasping without harming.”

            Kel winced. “Ah. Well, I’m glad she’s making such good progress. You should tell Kitten, Daine—it’s more accelerated immortal development. How does anyone think the shrines should be lit?”

            They tried small pillars and rods in various places but in the end Kel decided to wait until she could see what they were like shining at night, and moved them to the alure to catch as much sunlight as possible. The bigger pillars were heavy enough to need magepower or teamwork to lift, and by dusk only three had been set up on the roadway, outside the gates, at the turn, and a little below Pizzle—but even those made an astonishing difference, and the waiting piles became a glowing heap as darkness drew down, attracting enquiries from returning harvesters. Kel explained them at dinner, with the Guild’s involvement and the prospects of another unique trade item, and when she left the messhall, heading for bed, she indulged herself by collecting one glowing rod to take to her room. Halfway back across the green she heard her name called and saw Dom limping towards her from the caves.

            “Kel, do you have strong feelings about how the corral should be lit? I’m not sure how bright these pillars will be but I was wondering about sentries’ night vision.”

            “That’s a thought.” The smaller icelights around the wall weren’t directly visible to sentries because they were under the alure, but that wouldn’t be the case in the corral, and if the whole of that space were lit there might well be loss as well as gain involved. “Do you want me to have a look?”

            “If you would—it’s not something I’ve ever had to decide.”

            “And you think I have?” She set down the rod to collect on her return and fell in beside him, automatically slowing her stride. “Half the things I decide I’m guessing, you know.”

            “You guess well then.”

            “Pfui. We don’t know that yet.” He looked a question and she grimaced. “Day-to-day stuff seems alright, but the test will be whatever’s due to happen. And then it’ll be too late.”

            He carefully negotiated the slope to the cavemouth, leading with his good leg. “I’m not sure I understand that, Kel. The prophecy doesn’t say anything except that when the stormwings play here again the war will end, and I thought I saw the logic. But watching Amourta today I thought, well, isn’t that stormwings playing?”

            The tunnel was just wide enough for them to be side by side. “Mmm. You might think so but I doubt Shakith did. And you’ve seen how careful Barzha is about corpses.” She shrugged. “I agree there are holes and I try to think about them, but the sense I have is that the prophecy means something big. Shakith didn’t tell Irnai and have her repeat it, which is what usually happens—she spoke directly through her. Knocked her out doing it—she’d have fallen if I hadn’t caught her.”

            “Really? Neal said something about that, then clammed up and said he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say.”

            She considered. They reached the bridge and she greeted the soldier from Connac’s squad on duty, not commenting on the book he’d hastily stashed as he rose from a seat in the little curving guardroom that provided arrowloops: it was dull, isolated duty, what mattered was wakeful presence rather than surveillance, and she could see the book was a battered copy of Emry of Haryse’s military memoirs that had been making rounds after she’d recommended it to Uinse—proper soldierly reading. As they went on she remarked the issue, suggesting when rosters were established a pair of soldiers might do better.

            “As to the prophecy, Dom, I don’t see why you shouldn’t know the whole story. I’d probably have told you last year at Mastiff if I’d seen you before you went. Or at Neal’s wedding, if you hadn’t been called away. The point of secrecy was the prophecy itself—the rest was only confidential.” She told him about strange interruptions by the elemental, and Shakith’s ringing hawk’s voice with its effect on Irnai. They reached the limestone and began to negotiate the defensive turns. “It’s partly having heard that voice, I suppose—it went right through you. Your uncle said he’d heard it once when a Pearlmouth seer prophesied, and you don’t forget. But there’s another consideration. With this roil in the timeway, whatever it is, seers say the future’s all shards and fragments, which I thought it was anyway but even more so, apparently. Yet this one got through loud and clear, from Shakith herself and in the King’s presence. And Barzha said directly she didn’t believe it was any skirmish.”

            “Huh. Alright, that makes sense. Can I ask what the King thought?”

            “You can but I can’t tell you much. He doesn’t like prophecies at all, any more than Numair—says they’re always too vague to act on—but it did underlie the decision to give New Hope proper resources.” On the slope to the corral moon as well as icelight glimmered ahead of them and her sense of mischief stirred. “I can’t tell you more because I passed out about then. Grabbing Irnai re-opened my shoulder wound and after a bit I got woozy. Your uncle wound up stripping me to my breastband in front of my entire chain of command. I still haven’t forgiven him.”

            He stopped, staring, and lost his struggle not to laugh. “I must tell Uncle Baird you’re holding a grudge.”

            “You dare!”

            He shook his head. “And you were always so carefully modest, Kel, even with Cleon. Sir Cleon, I should say. Perhaps it was that Lord Sakuyo of yours having another of his jokes.” They emerged into the corral, the stable endwall oddly lit by a glowing pillar propped against it. “I had the lads leave it there because I didn’t know where to tell them to put it.”

            “Mmm.” She stopped, impulsively laying a hand on his arm but withdrawing it as she realised what she’d done. “‘Even with Cleon’, Dom? I wasn’t trying to be carefully modest. What does that mean?”

            “Eh? Oh, well, it’s …” He took a breath. “There was talk when you became my Lord’s squire, but the lads soon saw you weren’t like that, that you just wanted to learn about fighting and were already better than most of them. And you made it so we almost forgot you were a woman anyway. No, that’s not right—we knew you were, but … I don’t know … you never said anything that was, well, female, I suppose, and you weren’t a woman the way we sometimes talked about women.”

            Kel was already regretting her question. “You mean I wasn’t the kind of woman anyone thought about meeting off duty.”

            “I suppose. Then word went round about you and Cleon being … sweethearts, but he wasn’t around except on Progress sometimes, so we wondered where you were seeing him but never did find out. That’s all I meant. I’m sorry—it’s disrespectful, but it was just soldiers’ talk.”

            “I imagine it was.” She could see how it had been. “You didn’t find out where I was seeing Cleon because I wasn’t. As for being modest … well, let’s just say as a page it had been made very clear that if I was ever found with a boy in a room with the door closed I’d be dismissed, even if we were both in armour twenty feet apart. I expect caution carried over, especially with the conservatives claiming I was bedding Raoul.” And that was enough of that before her heart gave out on her. “Now, what were you thinking about the icelights?”

            He didn’t look happy but respected her curtailment of the subject, and they talked about possible placements to maximise illumination while protecting night vision. Experimentation was called for, and though the pillars were heavy it wasn’t as if they couldn’t be moved. Sharply aware of the look of his skin in the strange, mingled light of pillars and a gibbous waxing moon she abruptly agreed on a couple of plans to try and pleaded tiredness before she could embarrass herself any further. Returning through the tunnel she stopped to talk to Connac’s man, asking him how he was finding Emry, and enjoying a brief exchange about the peppery old general. The rod was where she’d left it and she took it to her rooms, turning it in her hand and wondering with one part of her mind how Numair had worked it all out while another thought about how flesh might look by its glow. That question at least could be answered, and blowing out the candles she stripped by its soft light, finding the air warm enough to dispense with a nightshirt and looking down at herself as she tucked legs under the sheet. It was more like sunlight than moonlight, which made sense, but had a shimmering quality that softened the scars splotching her body. The one drawback, she realised a little later, was that the light couldn’t be turned off, and even in her lassitude made a mental note that covers ought to be available. Ruefully rising again she took it to her sitting room, and returned to bed in the dark, wondering again how to light the shrines before sleep claimed her.

 

* * * * *

 

Roald was delighted to stand as Ryokel’s godsfather, and Duchess Wilina to have Shinko accompany her despite the additional protocol. It made for a considerable increase in the number of guests expected, and Kel asked Brodhelm’s patrollers if they’d relocate for the duration to the corral, clearing a barrack for escorts and, with an added partition, maids. The tunnel could hardly be kept secret but having visiting soldiers and servants constantly traversing it would inevitably lead to more Corus gossip than she wanted; they saw the point and agreed with only ritual grumbling. With Roald and Shinko, Alanna, Baird and Wilina, and—she learned—Wyldon as well as Haryse, Wilina’s cousin, coming, and Daine and Numair present, New Hope would for the first time be short of guest rooms, and Kel set basilisks, ogres, and miners not working on the last stretch of steps to creating sets of rooms near the loom chamber. Furnished with wardrobe and bed niches cut from the rock as well as magelights that _could_ be turned off, they were good enough that she could put Wyldon and Haryse here, and who knew when spare capacity might come in handy?

            What had once seemed plentiful space was also reduced by the arrival of six convict squads and the formation of New Hope Second. Dom, Uinse, and Jacut had between them decided they didn’t want to transfer squads from New Hope First, and had worked out a system of pairings whereby men from the First would work in rotation with new arrivals, showing them the ropes and becoming familiar with the rotas Dom was establishing. Kel left them to it but did give her welcome speech: it wasn’t that different from the year before but there were more immortals to introduce, including Cloestra and Amourta, and enough other things that she organised orientation classes covering New Hope’s history and probable future, the Guild, areas occupied by spidrens, and signals used by animals—a topic now including what to do if an owl or hawk appeared and rang the bell on the gatehouse roof. Neal began thorough checks, with his usual savage complaints about the treatable going untreated; at least Duke Baird would again assist with serious problems, including a desperately thin man Neal said had bleeding sores in his guts.

            “You see them in rich men who eat badly and are tense all the time.” He was lounging in her sitting room after a litany of curses addressed to those who superintended penal mines had finally run down. “Father thinks it’s tension that causes them, not diet, and this fellow’s grist to his mill. Reben Carpenter he’s called, and he’s not a villain—he was a clerk who became desperate when a child was ill and stole from his employer. The child died while he was on trial. He begged me to find out how his wife and surviving children are. They lived in Blythdin but got sent packing when he was arrested, and went to her sister near Fenrigh.”

            “He’s a soldier now, Neal. He can use the couriers for personal letters like everyone else. Or are you saying he wants them to join him?”

            “He hasn’t got that far yet, Kel, but as he regains his health and sees how things work here it’ll occur to him, I expect.”

            “That’s tricky. Soldiers can’t marry in wartime, but if they’re already married there’s nothing to stop wives following them if they want, and some do, even living on the front. But it’s off-duty business—the army doesn’t provide married quarters, and while they can negotiate permission for some things duty rosters can’t be bent for that sort of reason. As far as I’m concerned former convicts are no different, and I hope most people feel the same now. There’s enough liaisons between Uinse’s lads and refugee women, gods know.”

            “I wasn’t sure you knew about that.”

            “Of course I do, Neal. Men and sex is a fair chunk of the unwritten rules in the Commander’s Manual, and once there’s peace I expect there’ll be a bunch of handfastings. From the lack of children so far I take it you’ve doled out a goodly number of pregnancy charms.”

            “With a stern lecture about using them. But I don’t see the problem if Carpenter’s wife wants to follow him here.”

            “She’s no right unless I give permission, Neal, and if she’s not a refugee from Scanrans that’s a problem. We all eat at the charge of the Crown—you can’t just decide to move in, not while we’re an army base and refugee fort. Ask yourself also how many former convicts might be married—do I say any wives and families who wish can come? Or is Reben a special case?”

            “He might be, Kel. I think he’s here because the other convicts took pity on him in the mines. The rest mostly are villains—thieves or bandits—but they could see he wasn’t surviving.”

            “They like him then? Feel sorry for him?”

            “Yes to both, I’d say. But I do see making exceptions is a problem, at least while war lasts. There’s one thing though—he was a stores clerk and I suspect a good one. He can do sums in his head faster than me, and he’s a neat hand. I don’t know if he can fight as well, but he’d be wasted doing nothing but standing watch and sleeping.”

            “Mmm. With all the food we’ve grown the last inventory I did took all day, and paperwork expands with everything we add—you wouldn’t believe what a fortified corral turns out to need writing down about it—so clerks are stretched. He has to learn to fight, and he’ll owe the army service for whatever his sentence was so he can’t bank on staying, but there’s no reason he can’t be an army stores clerk.”

            The appointment was duly made after meeting the man herself, and taking stock of all the arrivals with Dom in their corral barrack Kel found herself pleased with it, and by and large with the men. They _were_ villains, but seemed cheerful with it, as Varlan was, and while a few were taking any opportunity to escape a nightmare most had volunteered because word had filtered back about service at New Hope. Kel knew Uinse and Jacut had something to do with that, and as officers whose magemarks had been cancelled after their heroics represented potent proof that the King’s offer of army service as a form of redemption was honest. All the new arrivals were suffering from what Kel dubbed Immortals’ Intoxication—a stunned, glassy-eyed amazement at what was entirely normal at New Hope—and judging Neal had also been right about Reben Carpenter’s popularity, and their anxiety on his behalf, she thought opportunity offered. Fenrigh wasn’t far from Eastwatch, on the upper Berint east of the Drell, and she asked Vanget to relay a message to Svein requesting the status of Carpenter’s family and conveying news of his whereabouts and improved health. Vanget quirked an eyebrow.

            “Don’t open any floodgates please, Kel.”

            She grinned. “I won’t, I promise. I’ve already had occasion to point a few things out. But this man’s well liked and he’s been genuinely ill with worry about his folk, so a little bit of the army looking after its own won’t go amiss, I fancy.”

            Shaking his head with a smile he agreed, and when Kel was able to tell Reben a few days later that his wife and children were well, settled with her sister, and would be writing to him via regular army couriers, she though he was going to burst into tears. She made clear General Vanget and Commander Svein had co-operated in getting news, and watched with satisfaction as the tale went round like wildfire; with Neal’s treatments, the indescribable improvement in diet, and the bustling friendliness of New Hope, it began to transform bandits into loyalists with purpose and new dignity. She wished she could do as much for the prisoners, whose families must have given up hope of them, but if messages to Scanra might have been possible via the smugglers she didn’t want word leaking to Maggur. She did talk to Stanar and the other prisoners, and they unhappily agreed the risk of Maggur targeting their families was one they were willing to avoid. They’d settled into routine well but had their own version of Immortals’ Intoxication, compounded by how hand-to-mouth their lives had been as Maggur’s grip tightened and especially once he’d launched his Tortallan War with promises of conquest and loot behind invincible killing devices. Kel had noted with surprise that Adner had assigned several to work with ogres on terraced fields, but it turned out those folk simply had experience of such farming and were of more benefit there than anywhere else.

            “Truth to tell, Lady Kel, from a strictly farming point of view we’ve enough people we could afford to plough half-a-dozen more fields either side of the fin, and vary crops. With webbing blocking the treeline and ogres shifting rocks to terrace we could exploit more slopes as well. They’re good wall builders, and Samiaju has an excellent eye for the lie of the land and what’ll work. I know we can’t yet because of the need for guards, but there’s ground I can’t wait to break when peace allows. This is good land, and with the goddess’s blessing it’s bounteous.”

            “I’ll happily look at plans, Adner, but you’re right about guards. We were hit hard when we were stretched this year, and though we’ve New Hope Second we’ve lost men and gained new alures.”

            “I know, Lady Kel. But I’ll be glad to go over my thoughts with you. This could be a rich fief in its land, you know, as well as in the Guild.”

            That was a thought to ponder, and the force of what Adner was saying was driven home spectacularly when the steps up the fin were at last completed and Kel accompanied Var’istaan, Petrin, and Kuriaju to the top. The tunnelled section rising from the gallery extending the alure was no problem, but when she emerged into the open-slot section she took care to keep on the inner side and even as she climbed observed dryly to Var’istaan that a nice, sturdy railing was needed. Heights didn’t usually trouble her these days but the sheer drop growing on her outer side was more compelling than most. The point at which the steps switched-back was considerably higher than the limestone lookout, and the northern valley hung before her like a vision. The stretch of road visible from the lookout was hidden by the valley’s curve and the knoll of Haven, but the perspective was generally more complete and gave a kind of view she’d had only from maps and plans. As she continued up New Hope itself claimed her attention, and she steeled herself to climb more centrally so she could see her domain as griffins and stormwings must.

            The steps reached the top fifty yards west of the gatehouse, and dived into the bulge of rock on the crest, spiralling through a steeply ramped three-quarter turn to emerge in an octagonal room that was the hollowed-out peak of the bulge, with great windows cut in each side. Basilisk, ogre, and miner gave her a few moments to catch her breath and take in the astounding vistas. The view north wasn’t that different from the one at the switchback, but in every other direction the world was made anew. Tracking west Kel could see over the hills and crags of the valleyside and even with the naked eye a stretch of the trail to Mastiff was clear, cresting a ridge two valleys and at least six miles away. The end of the trail where it wound through trees towards the Greenwoods was also visible, and _that_ would have given warning of the first Scanran attack in May minutes before it had become visible from the ground, and saved a life. For the first time the southern valley was visible, and through her spyglass the Great North Road, fully ten miles away. The land Adner had eyes on was obvious, and measuring it against what was already ploughed Kel could see what he meant: with extra fields in the northern valley as well total production could be multiplied several times, which with growing trade meant New Hope could sustain a much larger population and might be able to sell food. The thought crossed her mind that when she’d been returning in February fires would have been visible, as would a bright enough signal from the road, and a party could have made inroads into the larger drifts to ease their way.

            Taking a deep breath and tightening her stomach muscles she angled the spyglass down at the corral. Its gatehouse was hidden by the fin, but the wall curving to the limestone was plain; a sentry leaped into focus, and she knew that whatever magelinks Numair might install the backups of mirror signals, or at night a light signal, would also be viable.

            The south-east window was the only one of no use, showing the crest of the fin falling away before rising to tower over its intersection with limestone. From the east window, though, another new vista appeared, stretching over the cliffs and lower ridges beyond to the Brown River Valley. Steadying her elbows on the sill she decided a distant smudge really was Riversedge—losing herself in thought as she considered what line-of-sight warning might mean. The angle would have to be worked out exactly and a code devised, but much was possible. She needed to report to Vanget and Wyldon. A sound made her whirl, heart thumping, but it was only Cloestra perching in the north window while Var’istaan emerged from the spiral entryway, Kuriaju and Petrin behind him. Seeing her alarm Cloestra cackled.

            “Here’s a pretty eyrie for you, Protector. It’ll be brisk for mortals in winter, mind, but comfy for stormwings.”

            Kel gave a sharp smile. “Are you offering to stand winter watches?”

            The stormwing cackled again, and Var’istaan hissed laughter.

            “You’ll have to ask Her Majesty, but we might.”

            “We can place heating blocks, Protector. And we envisaged frames with petrified webbing to place on whichever side the wind is blowing.”

            “That’s a good thought.” Even on this warm September day, with only light air at ground level, there was a stiffer breeze here and in winter Kel had no doubt there’d be a young gale most of the time. “And you’ve worked marvels, all of you. Well, not Cloestra, save with Amourta, but all of the diggers. I’ve had this problem before, but …” She reached to touch Var’istaan’s muzzle gently for a moment, then Kuriaju’s face. Petrin she gave a quick buss, leaving him pink, and when Cloestra gave another cackle she shot her a rude gesture that made the stormwing laugh harder. “Thank you all. Warnings from here will save lives, and that’s beyond price. Do you have a name you’d like to call this place?”

            “You should call it Lady Kel’s Eyrie.” Cloestra’s cackled at her own joke and Kel saw an odd expression cross Kuriaju’s features.

            “That is actually a good name, Lady Kel.” He spoke softly. “But just now I think you should duck.”

            “Whaaaat?” Kel’s instincts dropped her into a crouch as she spoke and the unmistakable form of Junior shot through the window she’d been looking out of, wings tucked as he swooped inches over her head, straight across the chamber and out the opposite window. Her shocked irritation was mollified by the admiring grin on Petrin’s face and the discomfiture of Cloestra, whose instinctive movement had unbalanced her sufficiently that she had to bate to regain it, but even so Kel found herself rising to utter a peremptory bellow in Junior’s direction. Rather to her surprise he circled and came in to perch on a widow sill, clawed feet grasping stone in a very catlike way. She stared into his hot, coppery eyes and would swear she saw griffin laughter.

            “I suppose I should tell you that was pretty nice flying.” He preened, agreeing, and she shot out a hand to grasp his beak, leaning forward. “Even so, if you _ever_ injure anyone pulling that stunt, I will personally pull out your flight feathers and keep you grounded until you’ve learned some manners and common sense. Understand?”

            When she let him go, pulling her hand back fast enough to avoid his snap, he bridled then ducked his head and leaned for a scratch. Amused despite herself she obliged him, and when her fingers found the hinge of his jaw he purred loudly and pressed against her.

            “Little monster. But it _was_ impressive flying. Go on with you now, and tell your ma and da what a menace you are, as if they didn’t know.” With a squawk that might have been laughter or indignation he turned awkwardly and dropped to soar up in a glide that took him out of sight. The immortals were amused, and Petrin gaping. “When they reclaimed him his parents said being in mortal care had given him bad habits.” She gave Cloestra an old-fashioned look. “And _you_ should get him to help with Amourta’s flying lessons. Then you can all put on flying displays on summer evenings.”

            She headed down, ignoring immortal laughter behind her, but at the switchback paused, staring at New Hope until the others caught her up.

            “Birds with stones. Var’istaan, please make the railings of icelight—three strands, nice and sturdy so it’ll hold if anyone falls against it, and high enough not to swivel over. Light and safety.”

            The efficiency appealed to all. Reaching the gatehouse she sent Uinse, Jacut, and Brodhelm up to see for themselves, directing them to begin familiarising everyone with the stiff climb as well as the view, and went to find Numair to discuss illuminated banisters. They began to be installed that day, and by evening sections of triple-barred light marched pleasingly across the fin. Set amid each was an oversize icelight rune Numair said had virtues of protection and safety.

            With the pillars extending to moatbridge and stonebridge the tracery on the fin proved a splendid advertisement for icelights when Master Orman’s first wagon train arrived in charge of a cheerful Barin and a hired half-company of Lord Imrah’s port guards. This brought a tide of variety, much of it foodstuffs including a further large jam order Kel had placed when the children collectively implored her, winter jumpers from another Protector’s Maid’s shop, and a host of small items Kel couldn’t easily or legitimately requisition: extra spyglasses, ointments and herbs Neal wanted, others destined for Yuki’s pickles with items from Yaman, specialty foods including an array of cheeses, a few cases of wine, little kegs of spices and blocks of salt, better quality candles and lamp-oil, yarn for the looms and the disassembled pieces of another, larger loom, hides and bolts of higher quality fabric than they could weave themselves that were earmarked for finery, paper and ink, carefully packed glassware the padded wrappings of which would themselves find good New Hope uses, hanks of rope and balls of string, bundles of cushions, an assortment of textbooks, military manuals, and histories, with some romances for Neal, ingots and barrels of special nails for smiths and farriers—a happy cornucopia for everyone, compounded by a mass of mail resulting from Master Orman’s offer to carry freely any letters to New Hope.

            There was also a quantity of superior wood, fine-grained whorls visible even on rough blocks, apparently of Carthaki origin and accompanied by a commission, from a Carthaki nobleman whose name meant nothing to Kel, for a stoneware service like Lord Imrah’s. He had been visiting Legann, seen it, and wanted one; the price Master Orman had charged was so ridiculous Kel had to stop herself gaping, and Idrius was seen to punch the air with the widest grin anyone could remember.

            It meant that when the wagons left, laden with crates of webbing, stoneware, a quantity of petrified mesh, rather more obsidian, a variety of icelights, and furs purchased from trappers, a delighted Barin also carried another, bigger order for varied foodstuffs and luxury goods of more kinds than you could count. The material fruits of trade washed over everyone like cool, moist air on a hot day, and to a far greater extent than Kel had anticipated were redolent of a peaceful, comfortable future—a reverse of war, and a promise of relative wealth for all. Stanar and the prisoners looked on enviously, and Kel made sure some largesse flowed their way, but also caught people up the evening after Barin’s departure, reminding them gently that if peace were close enough to begin to breathe in, it wasn’t yet in their grasp. Thinking of conversations with Dom Kel went further than usual into why she believed—knew—in heart and gut that at least one real battle lay ahead. Variety and treats were welcome, but weapons training and permanent readiness for the worst continued without letup or leeway.

            “I believe—maybe even hope—it’ll be next year, and if we win through maybe we can at last relax and turn properly to fruits of peace. But not yet, people, not for a minute. I realise it can seem crazy with good warm days continuing, and weeks going by with no sight of raiders, but we’ve been hit out of the blue before, and the bottom line is we will _not_ lose anyone because we let ourselves get sloppy.”

            The cheering baffled her, and in a way she hadn’t expected her words were borne out a few days later when she found herself summoned for the first time to what had immediately become known as Lady Kel’s Eyrie. Duchess Wilina’s party had been spotted turning into the valley, days sooner than they’d been expected, and there was something the lookouts thought she ought to see. Even at a considerable distance the spyglass made it clear why they thought that, and while Kel wasn’t surprised to see Kitten she couldn’t say she’d anticipated the dragonet’s means of transport.

            “It’s alright.” She grinned. “It’s Kawit. She’s an opal dragon, very well mannered—about eighteen feet—nothing to worry about. She’s the one Tobe, Irnai, and I had that snowfight with last Midwinter.”

            Knowing the story they grinned back despite raised eyebrows, but there had been more mortals in the party than Kel expected and she looked again through the spyglass until she could make out faces. Wilina and Shinko were easy, as were Haryse and, however unexpected, her parents, but two others with that group were harder to place, though she knew she knew the faces, until a glimpse of red hair made memory click and shock hit her like cold water. Lord Belian of Hollyrose rode beside Haryse, and Lady Marra beside her mother.


	20. Witness

**Chapter Twenty — Witness**

_16 – 30 September_

 

There was no time to prepare the reception Kel had intended but she had soldiers, civilians, and young immortals waiting to guide and help with baggage. Once she’d formally welcomed everyone on the roadway, explaining the Honesty Gate, and the noble guests with the astonishing pair of Kawit and a chortling Kitten had passed through, she could concentrate on them and leave escort, servants, and maids slowly clearing the gate to the care of Brodhelm, Uinse, and Fanche. Saefas was in the fields with Adner and she’d made the decision not to interrupt work; if large parties would arrive early they must take pot luck. She felt she had to make an immediate public statement of shared loss to the Hollyroses, but sight of Lady Marra’s strained face as she reached the top of the roadway made her think a lower key was better advised, and she saw the woman look tensely round, brittle gaze lingering on the alure and shelf beneath.

            “Your Highness.” She made the proper bow to satisfy protocol and stepped forward to embrace Cricket, her head on the side away from Merric’s parents. “Is Lady Marra going to break?”

            “Probably.” Shinko’s whisper was apologetic. “They caught us up at Queensgrace. I’m sorry we couldn’t warn you, Keladry- _chan_.”

            “No matter, but follow my lead, please. Brisk and ordinary.” She turned to an uncertainly smiling Wilina and a sober Haryse clearly reigning in exclamations, and bowed. “Your Grace, my Lord. You must be anxious to meet your granddaughter. Perhaps you’ll allow Irnai to escort you and the Princess. Neal and Yuki are waiting to receive you.”

            Yuki hadn’t been happy about not being there to greet her mother-in-law but with Cricket’s co-operation it meant the two were bustled off, and flicking her gaze across her parents’ with the briefest smile Kel bowed and braced herself to meet Lord Belian’s and Lady Marra’s eyes.

            “My Lord and Lady. This must be very painful for you, but I’m glad you’ve come. Merric was happy here, and wanted you to see it. If you’ll excuse me while I deal with a few courtesies I will be at your disposal.”

            To her surprise Lord Belian bowed back and Lady Marra curtsied, before he nodded tightly, hand on her arm. “Of course, Lady Keladry.”

            “Thank you.” Wondering at their attitudes Kel took a step back, tilting her head. “Hello, Kawit. It’s good to see you.”

            _And you, Protector. I hope you do not mind my coming._

            “Not in the least. And hello to you too, Skysong. Your Ma and Da are up valley at Spidren Wood but I sent Nari so they’ll be back soon.”

            _Good. I have much to show them. And tell them._

A thought crossed Kel’s mind. “You haven’t set fire to another rug?”

            _Certainly not._ Kitten’s mindvoice was indignant, Kawit’s amused.

            _All is well, Protector. I was as restless as Skysong, and we are both interested to meet Amourta. New-hatched stormwings are uncommon._

            “Of course. Is there anything you need? Then perhaps I may ask you to be guided by young Amiir’aan a while. He can show you around and find you space in Immortals’ Row.”

            _Indeed. Thank you for your care, Protector._

            Then she could embrace her parents. “Are you both alright? I’m so sorry about Conal, but we have to wait, don’t we? Are you in on this?”

            “We’re surviving, sweeting, however sadly, and we’re in unless you’d rather we weren’t.” Her mother’s whisper was as apologetic as Cricket’s had been and Kel gave her a squeeze.

            “Do we go to Merric’s grave? The shrines? Or somewhere private?”

            Her father’s voice was equally quiet. “The shrines first, if you can clear a little space. Marra’s a godly woman holding hard to faith.”

            “Shrines it is.” She eased back but kept her voice low. “I’m afraid I’ve had to move you from the room I’d intended. Tobe will show you where you’ll be.” Which was one of the extra guest rooms in the cave. “Then come to the terrace.” She turned back to the tense Hollyroses.

            “My Lord and Lady. Let me show you to your rooms to freshen up, and we can talk.” Gently but unarguably she escorted them to a guest room in headquarters where their surprisingly little baggage and a maid Kel recognised as one of Cricket’s were waiting. While they were closeted she gave swift instructions but there was barely time for people to obey before they were back, Lord Belian determined to speak.

            “Lady Keladry, we must apologise for arriving without warning or invitation.” She murmured negation but he shook his head. “No, we know it is unfair but … it has been hard. Your letters were so courteous, and Sir Nealan’s, and the records you sent so clear about what happened. But when we heard of Captain Rogal’s execution … and your letter about these icelights, asking what we wished to do …”

            Lady Marra’s voice was breathy. “It was so unexpected, so kind.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “Merric was our firstborn and we knew Her Grace and Her Highness were coming with a large party. Forgive us. We had to see you.”

            “I understand.” And if Kel couldn’t know their pain she could imagine it intimately. “Please, there’s nothing to forgive. Come, let’s go to the shrines. I prefer to speak of the gods openly, in their hearing.”

            Kel hadn’t known she was going to say that but it was true, at least in this, and she led them to the terrace steps, seeing chairs had been hastily brought and Tobe—bless him—was setting out her Yamani tea service, with Bel’iira standing by to heat water. Her parents were coming back up from the cave, and in moments all were seated before the shrines of the Black God and Lord Mithros, outside the line of the trough carrying the cistern overflow. Cloestra and Amourta were in their usual place, talking with Kawit and Kitten, but the rest of the terrace was clear, and off-duty soldiers would make sure it stayed that way. She busied herself with tea, drawing in the calm of the ceremony, as if it were normal for the water to be boiled by a basilisk, and projecting it again as she’d been taught; she saw approval on her parents’ faces, and felt tension leech from the Hollyroses. Her father had been right: open air was better than any room could have been. She thanked Bel’iira, who bowed and withdrew, and with her own cup comforting her hand in its warmth and requirement that she not tremble met anxious gazes calmly.

            “Lord Belian, Lady Marra, where would you have me begin?”

            Lady Marra swallowed hard. “Lady Keladry, our son was very happy, very relieved, that you wanted him here. He blamed himself harshly for a mistake he said he made at Haven. Your … forgiveness, he called it, meant a lot to him. Could you begin with that? I was never sure what the mistake was, and he was wounded so badly himself …”

            Kel thought the request had taken all Lady Marra’s strength to make, but she could only offer truth; nothing else would do here.

            “As you will, my Lady. Merric and I spoke of that several times. I cannot tell you he didn’t make a mistake, failing to heed the sparrows’  warning, but it made no real difference—the force he and his men faced that day was beyond them, and the real mistakes were mine and my Lord of Cavall’s.”

            The tea gave her calmness to start the tale evenly without summoning her Yamani mask, and she spoke barely but clearly of her belief about Merric’s reasons for coming to Rathhausak, her trust in him and reasons for wanting him at New Hope, his strength and cheer and many contributions. That brought her to icelights, visible around the shrines in the simple arrangement she’d eventually decided on; her letter had explained the Guild contract but while she deduced from their expressions that her parents had had some of the story from Lady Marra much of it was new to them and she could see them thinking as they listened. Then there was nothing for it but to turn to the day of Scything Wheat, except that everyone here knew that tale already and what mattered was what had come after, which meant returning to what had happened to her the year before. And if the Hollyroses’ sorrow was one thing her parents’ was another, and still riding the calmness of her own voice she apologised to them for what she would have to say next. At least none of it would come as a surprise. The effect on Lord Belian and Lady Marra could not be helped but Kel found it harder and harder to retain her calm as she skimmed rape but reported the relevant part of the Black Gods’ words and turned to her decisions following her Enquiry. She wasn’t sure how she made it through her unanswered and answered prayers, and the dream Lord Gainel had sent. With its enactment in reality she knew her face was wet though her voice carried on as she rose to kneel before them.

            “I believed then and believe now that my choice was one I had to make, and the Black God has by his grace taken the burden of my guilt, but I am so sorry I had to extend forgiveness to Captain Rogal without your knowledge or consent. I can say only Merric too forgave him, as he forgave me, and helped guide his spirit to the Black God’s arms. It must sound absurd but I swear it is true.”

            She’d meant to wait but her hand traced the god’s circle on her chest and the wind soughed into the silence that was always behind it. Lady Marra’s face was still, tears flowing freely in that brimming overflow she knew, and silence held while Lord Belian held his wife tightly and she him, until she registered that Kel was yet kneeling and cried out, pulling her husband up with her.

            “No, no, you mustn’t kneel to us. It is we who should kneel to you.”

            Lady Marra’s grip was fierce and she was surprisingly strong, all but hauling Kel up; against all protocol Kel obeyed instinct and hugged her, feeling Lady Marra’s body abruptly relax and the weight of her head on her shoulder. Kel was long past embarrassment; looking over the woman in her arms she saw Cloestra and Amourta very discreetly drawing in the emotions that must be beating on them as fiercely as southern sun, both dragons observing with interest, and found she didn’t care in the least. After an age Lord Belian awkwardly reclaimed his wife, as braced as Kel to support her if she slumped, but she stood tall, eyes speaking as her husband put it into words.

            “Marra is right, my Lady—gods know you owe us no apology and we owe you much. More than we can say. But we must thank the god too.”

            “Yes.” Lady Marra’s voice was hoarse. “We must do that now.”

            Kel looked at her parents, damp-eyed themselves. “Did Anders tell you what happened at Conal’s funeral?”

            “Oh yes. And Tobe has spoken to us also” Her Papa’s voice was sad and strong. “We’ll give thanks together.”

            They knelt side by side, silent save for one intense prayer from Lady Marra, and though there was no more divine noise there was a palpable calmness that told Kel their devotion was accepted, and her own prayers looped as so often now to beg of Father Universe and Mother Flame that the Black God know the peace he bestowed. After a while she felt everyone content, the burn of grief as salved as might be, and stood. Lady Marra’s face was slack, and gesturing her parents to wait Kel escorted the Hollyroses to their rooms, promising that in the morning she’d take them to see Merric’s grave at Haven. Lord Belian’s grip on her arm grew fierce for a second, and his mouth worked.

            “Bless you, my Lady.”

            The door closed behind them and she turned, ready to sag herself but conscious of the need to return to her parents, and found Tobe waiting silently at the head of the stairs to slip a hand into hers, squeezing every bit as fiercely as Lord Belian; her heart eased and strength came back to her legs.

            “Thank you, Tobe. You’ve been a marvel today. How ever did you find time to tell Papa and Mama about Conal’s apology as well as getting the tea things?”

            “I only told them we knew Sir Conal was safe with the Black God. I didn’t know if they knew all Sir Anders told you. Irnai fetched the tea things—she knew where they were and I didn’t think you’d mind.”

            She reached her free hand to ruffle his hair as they reached the open air. “Not in the least, Tobe. Quick thinking. Anders will have told them all he told me but we’ll make sure.”

            Dusk was drawing in but the air was still balmy, and she saw  Neal and Yuki sitting with their guests in the space Yuki had created outside the separate door to their rooms; Ryokel was in her grandmother’s arms and Kel wasn’t sure if the lump Wilina’s expression brought to her throat was a bubble of laughter or tears, though Haryse’s long-suffering look definitely brought laughter and gods knew it was welcome. She and Tobe waved but didn’t stop. Her parents had fresh cups of tea but before she could pour herself one her father put his down and rose to embrace her, eyes wondering.

            “That was _well_ done, my dear. A palpable grace.”

            “It was the god’s, Papa.”

            “Not entirely, I think. Your mother agrees. But tell us what you know of poor Conal.”

            They’d had the tale from Anders and all she and Tobe could add was the chimed acceptance of his prayer that Conal know his apology accepted, and the dream of his peaceful face she and Tobe had had that night. Her parents nodded, drying eyes, and her Mama hugged Tobe before settling back, face hollowed but calm.

            “Poor Conal. Will you go to Mindelan, sweeting? Anders and Inness would welcome this news first-hand.”

            “Yes, I mean to go at Midwinter, then by sea to Port Caynn.”

            “November, then. We’re going on from here but have to be in Corus for Midwinter, so I expect we’ll wait on you there. You’ll come, Tobe?”

            Her son looked at her. “If I may, Ma?”

            “Of course you may.  Do you think Irnai wants to travel again?”

            “I dunno.” He frowned. “She liked the city”

            “I’ll ask her. Oh, look up there.” It had darkened enough for the glowing railings on the steps to her Eyrie to become visible. “We should go up there before the light fades completely.” Kel hauled both parents to their feet and set off, extending her hand to Tobe. “It’s all new. I haven’t seen the lights on the roadway and bridges by night yet myself. And after we’ve gone over the fin we get to go under it and see Geraint’s marvel of a bridge.” She glanced towards the infirmary. “If you look right you’ll also see Her Grace of Queenscove looking as possessive of Ryokel as a cat that’s nabbed the only cushion. Did you look like that when you first held Lachran, Mama?”

            Laughing, Ilane took her arm. “Probably, sweeting. Your Papa did.”

            Her father’s indignation didn’t stop Kel from noticing the relief and pleasure on people’s faces as they made way. Word about the Hollyroses had evidently gone round. She’d have to escort Lord Belian and Lady Marra to dinner, but there was time to show her parents the wonders basilisks and ogres with mortal sweat and magic had wrought.

            The fierce emotions of the afternoon cleared much of the tension the Hollyroses brought, if not the sorrow. Kel had to endure one more intense episode when she took them to Haven, but they liked the simple stone— _Merric of Hollyrose / 442 – 462 HE / A Knight of Tortall and Defender of New Hope_ —and the knoll. Grass had grown over bare earth, and in the late summer warmth butterflies fluttered among flowers and grasshoppers could be heard; a twining weed with tiny yellow flowers had draped itself around the burned infirmary timbers marking the mass grave, including men Merric had commanded that day, and Lady Marra knelt there for a long while as well as walking slowly down the line of headstones. She seemed to know who was there, and asked to be shown Rogal’s unmarked grave, in a far corner. Both knelt there too, Lady Marra longer than her husband, who after walking round and stopping by Merric’s grave again hesitantly approached Kel.

            “Lady Keladry. Thank you for bringing us. Haven was always so busy in Merric’s letters, then sombre, I hadn’t imagined it so peaceful.”

            “It has the Black God’s blessing.” She spoke simply. “He welcomes to his mercy all buried here and his grace is as infinite as his sadness.”

            “Yes. Yes, it is.”

            They stood in silence, breeze and sunshine dispelling awkwardness, until Lady Marra rose, and summoned her husband. After a moment they came to Kel together. “We would like Merric to stay here, please. It is a blessed place, as Belian says, and I could not bear to move him.”

            “It is our honour, my Lady.”

            “No, ours. And please, Marra—it is wrong for us to accept your deference.”

            Belian concurred and if doubtful of their reasoning Kel was always happy to win through protocol to friendship, as well as vastly relieved the coffin would not have to be dug up. Sadly, but with an inner calm neither had had before, they made farewells, Lady Marra promising Merric she would return as she could. Kel had anticipated that and told them of a woman among the refugees with a good hand who might provide them with a drawing to keep the place before their eyes, but as she walked slowly with them down the roadway they surprised her considerably.

            “You said in your letter you couldn’t guess how much money might be due Merric from these icelights, but I’d think it will be substantial—they’re remarkable things.” Hollyrose was a wealthy fief and Belian by all accounts a shrewd trader. “We shall be wanting some ourselves for courtyard and village, and if the city authorities in Corus don’t want one for every street I’ll be astonished. Word will spread.”

            Kel nodded. “I’m hoping so. If New Hope does become a fief, as seems likely, there’ll be a great deal to be done.”

            “Indeed.” Marra looked at her husband and went on slowly. “We’d like Merric’s part of that money to go towards it, Keladry—to help with education and healers for the refugees, and those Scanrans who helped you and had to leave everything. Merric was very struck by them when he found out what happened while he was helping the kidnapped Tortallans back. He wrote us a long letter after he talked to the seer-child Irnai and he wouldn’t want us to take money away from you here.”

            “You’re sure? He loved Hollyrose too—he often spoke of it.”

            “We’re sure.” Belian gestured around the valley. “He admired you greatly and what you’d done here, and I see why. We have established a fund in his name to help anyone from Hollyrose accepted for knight training whose family cannot afford it. And we’ll be glad to know his name is honoured here.” He hesitated. “Forgive me, but given your age I was disapproving of your elevation to His Majesty’s Council. But seeing New Hope I realise Merric knew better. He wrote several times that you were building the future here, and he was right.”

            Kel didn’t know what to say but the topic recurred with Haryse who buttonholed her at lunch to request a proper tour, explaining cheerfully that he’d be more interested in Ryokel when she could talk and while his cousin was so broody he’d rather be doing. Kel had things awaiting her attention but he was a fellow Councillor and as she’d suspected partly wanted to assure her he had no truck with Runnerspring’s complaint.

            “The records you sent were clear, Keladry. You snipped protocol a bit with fair reason and it made no odds. Carolan’ll vent and get nowhere.” He shook his head. “He didn’t use to be this foolish, and I can’t help wondering why he had a man loaned to Tirrsmont in the first place. But no matter. What’s far more important is this place. The King’s mentioned it often since the Chamber showed it him. I felt it was time I saw it myself, so Wilina coming for this nameday was an opportunity.”

            “It’s no problem, Terres. And being here for the ceremonies you’ll see more than you might have—the spidrens’ll come, and maybe the griffins and Whitelist—the herdmaster. The Stone Tree Nation’s around a lot because of Amourta, but Queen Barzha and Lord Hebakh will be here.” She paused by a crenel, noting how much harvesting remained and checking the alertness of guards in view; Haryse saw what she was doing with a grunt of approval. “I said to Macayhill and others at Midwinter that you had to see Quenuresh to understand what living with her means, and it’s the same with ogres and stormwings. Frankly I wish the entire Council could come—it’d save me ever so many explanations.”

            He laughed. “I bet. Well, I’m a start, and I take the point. This isn’t just amazement—it’s a way the future could be. But I’ll also say I’m delighted by your defences. Have you read Orchan by any chance?”

            Kel grinned and their conversation ranged pleasantly among military historians while she took him to the corral. A demonstration of Geraint’s bridge had him hopping enthusiasm and requesting the design, which led to the need for a basilisk, the Guild, and without Kel intending it her hopes for attracting the kind of people New Hope didn’t have. He was, she realised, good at getting people to talk and approved what he was hearing. The corral and its defences, including the drawbridge, restored them to military history, and a crisp interrogation of Dom and the new Second Company men he was drilling left him thoughtful and when they were returning through the tunnel complimentary.

            “You handle people well, Keladry. Cavall was right. Military service is a better answer than mines and you’re making loyalists of those men. I can see all your people have it. Uncle Emry would approve.”

            Fortunately the bridge guards’ reading hadn’t changed and she was able to point out the battered copy of his uncle’s book. The soldiers were struck to meet a kinsman of the old general, whose rudeness about anything he considered foolish appealed as Kel had thought it might, and there was a lively discussion that left Haryse laughingly impressed, as he remarked when they were again on their way.

            “Surprised to find such literate soldiers. Last real command I held, during the Immortals’ War, half my lads could barely sign their names.”

            “Everyone here can read and write, Terres. If they can’t when they arrive we teach them. Tortallan and Common, at least, and many have Scanran.” She kept her voice even. “Yamani’s another matter but Yuki lives in hope. She has more luck with the children, though.”

            He laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”

            “Not at all. Her line is anyone who’s heard Lord Sakuyo laugh should be able to thank him in Yamani and she’s explained what their tokens as Sakuyo’s Blessed will mean if they ever visit the Islands—which quite a few have every intention of doing. I must get Shinko to send His Imperial Majesty warning,  so he realises that in a few years he really is going to have Tortallan saints pitching up with expectant looks.”

            That vision of the future carried them to her Eyrie where she was able to leave him peering happily in all directions though a spyglass and deal with some of her other guests as well as the voluminous contents of the mailsack their escort had delivered.

 

* * * * *

 

One early arrival attracted others and Duke Baird and Prince Roald came in search of their wives. Kel had hoped Roald might bring Owen, but he’d had the chance to serve for a month as second at an outpost and felt the opportunity too good to pass up. With all the escorts there were so many extra soldiers at loose ends that after polite consultations with officers Kel drafted them all as field guards and set most of Mikal’s men to helping finish the harvest. Besides greater speed and safety it brought visiting soldiers into contact with ogres, terracing farmers or miners helping out loading wagons, and New Hope hummed with tangible results. The icelights enabled work to continue later, with last wagons rumbling up the roadway well into dusk, and the hard-earned hunger everyone brought to dinner made for meals that were silent while people shovelled and then cheerfully relaxed. Kel didn’t let anyone stint on training, and visiting soldiers were sufficiently startled by the variety of weapons and general skill of both soldiers and civilians that they bucked up themselves. There were hard-fought competitions and Kel was amused to see officers taking notes on training routines every bit as intently as Vanget and the commanders had. She could see Haryse was again approving but was better pleased by the pride of her own people as a fair number of them managed to hold their own against regulars.

            If Haryse was an ally Duchess Wilina was more of a puzzle. She was never less than polite but seemed disapproving in some way, and was one of the few who didn’t express astonishment at New Hope’s reality; Kel suspected resentment that Yuki and Ryokel were here, rather than under a mother-in-law’s grandmaternal eye, with fear compounding continuing mourning for her elder sons. There was nothing to object to but Kel was left uneasy by the woman’s brooding looks and happy to leave her to her kin as far as possible. Duke Baird’s arrival seemed to improve her mood, and Kel was aware, not for the first time, of how much he continued to give Tortall’s soldiers as well as commoners affected by war; he couldn’t have been at Queenscove for more than a month or two in as many years.

            Time with her parents and Cricket was a delight, despite lingering grief for Conal, and Yuki not being one to miss any opportunity there was a memorable Yamani evening for all and, after adjourning to the terrace, Cloestra, Amourta, St’aara, Var’istaan, and Amiir’aan as well. The liquid cadences of the language attracted children serious about learning it and put Neal and Roald, whose accents remained at best peculiar, on their mettle.

            Kitten was spending most of her time with Daine and Numair, and the rest with young immortals, but Kawit was less predictable. She’d wandered down valley to spend a day talking to Quenuresh and up for another visiting the centaurs, but might also be found with Cloestra and Amourta, and once shock had worn off and she’d proven herself unfailingly courteous when approached, a growing number of refugees talked to her. The Scanrans, Rathhausakers and prisoners alike, were fascinated, and seeing Stanar shaking his head in bemusement one evening as he watched the opal dragon telling assembled mortal and immortal children some tale, Kel asked him what he was thinking.

            “She is a _dragon_.” He laughed softly at her puzzlement. “Even with the return of other immortals and all the world disturbed since, dragons are … something else. Do you not know our tales? Dragons play an important role but not as storytellers.” He dropped into Scanran. “ _Eald uhtsceatha, nihtes fleogeth fyre befangen_. That we expect—not this!”           

            Kel fumbled to work it out. “An old dark … no, harmer out of the dark, threatening fire? Is that poetry?”

            “Yes. One of our sagas. The old scathers who come at night with ribbons of fire. If a dragon ate the children we would be unsurprised. To see one _teaching_ them … well, this is a place of marvels, but this is the greatest yet.” He shook his head again. “Even if she is _wyrm_ , not _draca_ , we will have such tales to tell if we ever go home. No-one will believe a word we say.”

            “ _Wyrm_ not _draca_?”

            “Yes—she has no wings, so she is _wyrm_.”

            “Huh. Kawit’s an opal dragon, but can cast fire. The flying kind, like Kitten and her grandsire, certainly can, but from their paws, magically, not their mouths. I’ve seen it on a very small scale, but you should ask Daine—she saw Kit’s mother fight, and I think Lord Diamondflame too, during the Immortals War.”

            He gave her a sideways look. “You saw dragonfire?”

            “Melting snow so Kitten could get through. Kit’s just learning.” She told the story of Duke Gareth’s old and new rugs, to his laughter and amazement, and by the time she was done she had as many adult Scanrans clustered around her as Kawit had children. “They’re astonishing beings, I know, but really not, what was it? _eald uhtsceatha_ , unless you give them good reason. Ask Irnai—she met Diamondflame. And from what I understand they keep themselves to themselves in the Dragonlands. We only have contact because Daine is Kitten’s guardian, and Kitten met—well, found—Kawit when she was visiting Carthak.”

            From the lively discussion in Scanran that broke out Kel gathered that Maggur was three times a fool to have gone to war with a nation that had dragon allies, but was pleased next evening to see Stanar and other Scanrans, including Zerhalm, cautiously led to Kawit and Kitten by Irnai to talk to dragons themselves. What they’d do if Diamondflame ever came to New Hope she couldn’t imagine, but for now another set of misconceptions was being corrected.

            Even more satisfactorily the harvest and planting of winter crops was completed on Mabon eve, and by the time Wyldon arrived with Alanna, Spiir’aan, and yet another combined escort in late afternoon the fields were largely clear and the atmosphere beginning to ramp up for festivities. The children had put up ropes and ribbons, and persuaded Numair icelight beads were a necessity, so with dusk lines of tiny glows appeared, outlining and connecting buildings. Spiir’aan was pleased to be back and keen to talk to the other basilisks, but Alanna’s mood was strange, a mixture of relief and brooding concern, and Kel wondered what news she might have had of Aly. With so many high-ranking guests assembled high table was crowded and cheerful, but with feasting due dinner was simple; afterwards many people chose to sit in the balmy dark, and when Kel took Wyldon up to the Eyrie the glitter of New Hope below them and illuminated bridges made a breathtaking sight. Alanna had said she’d have a look when her legs were less weary, but Wyldon welcomed the offer and took opportunity to bring her up to date, relaying Vanget’s concerns about the potentially late winter and troop movement. After initial exclamations at the view and her assurance that in daylight Riversedge was visible he seemed abstracted as he stared out of one window after another, and Kel asked if anything were wrong.

            “No, not really, Keladry. I’m just tired.” Mindful of the sentries he dropped his voice. “And feeling low, I suppose you’d say. Pirate’s Swoop hasn’t been easy company—she has something on her mind but won’t say what—and I’ve been preoccupied myself. News from Corus, mostly. With Gallan co-operation they _have_ stopped those food shipments, and from records seized it’s clear we’ve been feeding Scanra for at least a year. Genlith’s exclaiming horror and saying he had no idea, but if the King can’t prove otherwise he’s not inclined to believe him, and neither am I. At best it’s greed, stupidity, and carelessness, and gods know how many lives it’s cost.” He glanced at her, eyes troubled. “And there’ll be Torhelm to deal with once he can speak, and in all probability a trial. It’s like the bad days of Duke Roger and Eldorne’s treason.”

            She understood. “I’m sorry. These are people you’ve known all your life and don’t like to think ill of. It must be hard. It’s easier for me because I don’t know them well and have little reason to respect them.”

            “I don’t think anything’s easier for you, Keladry. Differently hard, perhaps. But it’s not the individuals, wretched as that is. Or even the treason, if that’s what it is. Having Spiir’aan around has been an education that’s left me wondering why we’ve done so little to forge real bonds with immortals in the last decade. Then I look at New Hope and what you’ve managed in a year, and I feel very old.”

            “Ah.” Kel rested a hand on his arm. “Oddly, Wyldon, I share that feeling. But I can’t help with the other—I’ve wondered myself why no-one ever asked Tkaa to petrify anything or talked to ogres properly. Dunlath should have been a model. But we’re putting it right, and if you feel low talk to children—besides making for clarity about what matters I find them reassuring. If we survive whatever’s coming, the future will have some good people in it.”

            His look was keen. “You sound as if you don’t think you’ll see it.”

            She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I doubt even the gods know, but since Conal’s death I’ve been having days when it doesn’t seem right I’m alive. It’s not as bad as after the tauros attack but it’s one reason I feel old. How many birthdays should a deathday count as, do you suppose?”

            He surprised her. “Yours or Rogal’s?”

            “Huh. I meant mine, but his added some years too. With the Black God’s and Lord Gainel’s grace I don’t dream of him, though. Perhaps it should haunt me, but he’s at peace and Merric will bear no witness against me for that. But the tauros … that memory is always there. Distant since the Goddess’s healing, but there.” She didn’t think the conversation was doing any good, and it was heading for things she didn’t discuss with anyone. “Mind you, another reason I feel old is I have to play priest tomorrow. You realise I thought of sending you Spiir’aan as repayment for being so unhelpful with Holloran before Lughnasad?”

            His indignation and rueful laugh were an improvement, and after they’d descended she managed to steer him to a group of children listening to Kawit before seeking out her parents. Then she made her evening round, but melancholy pulled at her and once all was quiet she went to the shrines to pray to the Goddess for strength and Lord Sakuyo for laughter. Whether it was his influence she wasn’t sure but she felt better afterwards, and her dreams were comfortingly of blossom under blue skies, and very indecently of Dom.

            The ceremonies weren’t until sunset, and despite sounds that told her Quenuresh and her kin had arrived, and later that stormwings were gathering, Kel spent her day attacking the backlog of paperwork so many guests had occasioned. With apologies to Heliana for her holiday she dictated a variety of letters Shinko’s escort could deliver. Besides the Protector’s Maids and Lalasa’s wedding there was business arising from Guild trade but at last all was done and she went to change. Although there’d been namedays for babies born the previous winter, held as usual among commoners soon after their births, those parents had asked if their children might be re-presented to the gods at this festival; Yuki and Ryokel therefore weren’t the only ones involved but Kel’s beautiful green kimonos seemed right for the occasion. Heliana came to help her dress, and if Yuki and Cricket would tell her she ought to be wearing paint Kel thought she looked as fine as she ever had. Her face had changed in the last year: in the mirror it seemed thinner and, though the word surprised her as it occurred, wiser; but then kimonos could make anyone look good. Heliana seemed to agree, humming appreciation as she offered a compliment, and Kel swept out feeling cheerful.

            The main level was packed and the sense of repetition from the dedication a year ago was strong, though the beads strung all around the buildings were distractingly pretty. The immortals on the terrace were more numerous, and enlarged by Kawit’s presence, and besides noting Kitten perched atop the opal dragon Kel saw with pleasure that all three griffins were there as well as Whitelist with two of his mates, and what looked like all the spidrens; a clean Stone Tree Nation perched on roofs everywhere. On the nearest part of the east shelf Peachblossom had Alder as well as Hoshi beside him, sparrows in his mane and Jump at his feet, with other dogs and the marmalade cat. Four companies were drawn up, making a brave display though the incompleteness of New Hope Second was painfully obvious; and if the courtiers were missing and some faces different, the guests gathered opposite the immortals were much as they had been. Yuki and Neal, holding Ryokel, were front and centre, with Baird, Wilina, and Terres to one side and Roald, Shinko, and Alanna to the other; Wyldon stood behind with her parents and Tobe, the Hollyroses, Daine and Numair. As Kel followed the path to the terrace steps the crowd fell silent and the captains brought soldiers and knights to attention; everyone seemed to stand straighter and Kel’s heart swirled with the complexities of their isolating respect, pride in all they’d achieved, and surprise at her calmness. A year ago her stomach had been churning but today she felt purposeful, sufficiently relaxed to notice how happy Tobe looked and how handsome Dom was. His armour gleamed and the outline of his brace beneath his trousers spoke of heroism and endurance, not weakness. The mood didn’t stop her observing Sir Voelden standing with Brodhelm’s Eighth, where a year ago Merric had stood, but he _was_ a knight and had proven a good patrol leader, so she couldn’t begrudge him the place though grief for Merric twined into her confusions and calmness.

            One advantage of playing the priest as well as being commander was that she could within reason suit herself about protocol, and after making a curtsey to Roald and Shinko that had them suppressing smiles she made more—one each to the mortal and immortal groups as a whole, and then, deeply, to New Hope’s population. Surprise held them rigid and she didn’t give them a chance to return the courtesy before speaking.

            “Today we celebrate new lives. Tessa Farmer, Jorvik Stockman, Fanche Stonecutter, and Lady Ryokel of Queenscove join us in search of a better future, and it is right we present them to the gods as well as ourselves assembled; but there is more. Last Mabon we dedicated these shrines, and received the gods’ blessings with unhoped for gifts from Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. The ease of our childbeds, foison on our tables—and its taste!—are benison beyond reckoning, and it is right we give heartfelt thanks to the High Ones.” That they agreed with, though Kel wasn’t surprised to see Wilina frown, as she had at the news Ryokel wasn’t the only baby being presented. “And still there is more. My curtsies—and you won’t see me make those often, I warn you—acknowledged Their Highnesses and our many noble guests as is proper, but I also formally acknowledge the immortals who dwell among us in trust, and thank them for all they have done, as I acknowledge and thank you all. New Hope has in a year become the most self-supporting refugee camp in Tortallan history, and if we have enjoyed the gods’ blessings it is you who have made that a reality.”

            She curtsied to them again, and once more gave them no chance to start the insistent reflection of credit to which they were given.

            “Who brings a child here that we and the gods may know our own?”

            The commoner parents, with godsparents, were in a group by the steps, and the first couple came proudly forward, trailed by their chosen. All were young—the Farmers were former Tirrsmonters from the first group, the Stockmans from Anak’s Eyrie, and the Stonecutters from Goatstrack, explaining their feelings about honouring Fanche—and all the babes firstborn; as Kel received each she spoke of their parents’ histories and new identities before settling to more usual ceremonies. The infants were formally named, and the godsparents swore oaths of care; no chimes sounded and for the first time Kel saw worried looks but serenely carried on, and when she held up Tessa Farmer before each shrine in turn, naming her as a child of New Hope and asking the gods’ blessing on her life and death—may it be long distant and peaceful—chimes sounded. Returning Tessa to her beaming mother and father Kel could see Wilina’s face was a picture, and Terres no less taken aback, though what her parents or Wyldon might be thinking she couldn’t tell. Babies Jorvik and Fanche were equally received and witnessed, and before turning to Yuki and Neal Kel spoke briefly to the crowd again.

            “I can’t tell you what this means to me. Sir Nealan is my oldest Tortallan friend, Lady Yukimi my oldest Yamani friend, and to name their firstborn, here in New Hope, is beyond my dreams. And in so far as she is named for me, and is of New Hope as well as Queenscove, I pray I can be worthy of her and her parents.”

            There was no protocol for a priest conducting a naming ceremony _and_ standing as godsmother so Kel went on making it up, witnessing Roald’s and Alanna’s oaths with a growing sense of unreality before making her own and ignoring the usual wording because to witness herself was absurd. She could see Wilina frowning at the irregularity of it all, but by the time the chimes sounded for a gurgling and arm-waving Ryokel the Duchess’s hand was entwined with her husband’s, face transfigured. Yuki made a point of handing Ryokel to her as she returned to the group, and Kel saw in Shinko’s eyes an altogether Yamani merriment about mothers-in-law and the happy fortunes of brides in managing them when the gods lent a hand. Returning to the centre Kel faced the crowd again and raised her arms.

            “What thanks can we give the gods save mortal words? Their needs and purposes are beyond us, but I stand here in the place of a proper priest because they have made it so. I tell you frankly I believe Lord Sakuyo, whose laughter most of us heard, had more influence in that than Lord Mithros, but trickster as he may be he stands among the High Ones and I cannot argue.” She let them think about it for a moment, not least to give Tobe time he needed. “A year ago Mabon saw other witness too—the purses His Highness presented on His Majesty’s behalf to Fanche and Saefas, to Zerhalm, and to Tobeis, who that day became of Mindelan. And in the year between I have died and been returned to myself and to him, for which grace I owe the gods thanks every moment. Tobe feels the same, and knowing utterly how useless it is to offer the gods riches we have made our own offerings to accompany grains and fruits of our foison and work.”

            Tobe was at her side with the little bag and the arrow, and as he displayed them she told everyone what they were—the arrow fletched with Amourta’s down for Lord Weiryn and two more of those strange, curly steel feathers twisted with Numair’s help into a spiral for the Green Lady; small locks of Merrick’s and Rogal’s hair woven together for Lord Mithros; Tobe’s carving of Yuki holding Ryokel, petrified by St’aara into flecked jade for the Goddess; a scroll with her haiku about his laughter as grace and hot needles for Lord Sakuyo, in the best calligraphy she could manage; a hawk’s retrix, supplied by Daine and petrified by Var’istaan into blindingly white obsidian, for Shakith; her own poor but heartfelt drawing of blossoming orchards in a Yamani springtime for Lord Gainel, and though she wasn’t prepared to say much she did explain that blossom softened her dreams; and for the Black God, another _ihai_ carved with her name, this time in rockice.

            “You can see that in the dark my name stands out, and if it seems strange to you to give the Black God a glowing gift it seems right to me for my name to be among his darkness, as my every breath is borrowed of his grace, and right gladly to offer him light in his sadness. And with these gifts come the fruits of your sweat and toil, with our sorrow for our dead and rejoicing in our own lives, and the lives that join us.”

            Two bearers of the little bowls of grains and jugs of wine had cost Kel thought. Irnai for Shakith was easy, as were Shinko for Sakuyo, Wyldon for Mithros, Numair and Daine (despite her protests) for Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady, and Alanna for the Goddess, but it had taken careful discussion of the symbolism she hoped it might embody to secure St’aara’s agreement for Amiir’aan to participate for Lord Gainel, and a much longer, harder conversation to persuade Sir Voelden to make the offering to the Black God. In the end she thought it had been shame at her care for Rogal’s spirit that persuaded him, not her attempt to explain she was asking him to surrender to the Black God whatever still lay between them; but however he reasoned he eventually agreed, and as he came forward, collecting the bag of grain from a tray Adner held, she felt something move in the crowd, a gust of understanding.

            Mindful of the timeway and its mysteries Kel hadn’t let herself expect, but wasn’t surprised when each offering was accepted with chimes and voices—clashing battlecry, belling hounds, distant hawks, and soughing wind. Lord Sakuyo laughed promptly, not repeating a joke but having another, and Kel’s eyes met Shinko’s and Yuki’s in complete understanding that several hundred more people had just become Sakuyo’s Blessed and second _kamunushi_ Lord Kiyomori would be less than amused to find himself heading back to New Hope. Lord Gainel left Quenuresh alone this time, but Kel—and from their expressions Daine and Numair as well as the spidren and Alanna—felt a tug of power before the air all but glowed with the scent of blossom, just as in Kel’s dreams. It lingered as Kel and Tobe with Daine and Numair placed the offerings on the central double shrine, and despite Daine’s warning that as minor gods her ma and da did not have disembodied voices in the mortal realms Kel by this stage half-expected something. What she got was a blazing ball of silver before the shrine that drove all back and cleared to reveal a large, dazzlingly pelted badger. Kel curtsied, and a crisp voice sounded in her mind; despite its clarity she somehow knew it was for her, Tobe, Daine, and Numair alone, though she suspected the dragons and some other immortals might also be able to hear.

            _Ha hmm. Protector. Weiryn and Sarra accept your offerings and ask me to collect them so don’t worry when they disappear. Weiryn suggested I say as much to everyone but a god of the People giving a speech to two-leggers is ridiculous and I told him so. Still, I need a word with his kit so just carry on with whatever it is you’re doing. If you will._

            Speechless, Kel heard Sakuyo’s laughter again at how entirely taken aback everyone was, and watched as it—he—ambled over to Daine, who crouched to bury hands in the thick pelt, listening. Finding herself amused at the indignation in the Badger’s mindvoice at the notion of public speaking Kel turned, seeing smiles on Alanna’s face and, oddly, Wyldon’s, and the shock on everyone else’s; half were kneeling, half didn’t know what to do, and the stormwings’ looked drunk on whatever blasts of emotions all this divinity was generating.

            “Lord Badger tells me Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady accept our offerings and he will take them to the Divine Realms.” She glanced sideways. “He and the Godborn are old friends, as you see, so don’t mind them while they catch up.” She heard immortals’ laughter and smiled. “And however strangely, our formal celebrations are complete, so you should begin your own.”

            No-one mortal seemed much inclined to move, preferring to gape, but a lusty squall from Jorvik Stockman, convinced it was dinnertime, generated activity. Immortals began to stir: Kitten bounced from Kawit’s back to scamper to the Badger and Daine, and the adult griffins took off though Junior stayed, looking about with bright eyes before trotting over to Shinko and booting her knee. Kel shook her head, asked Tobe to get dinner going, and warned Shinko to watch her fingers before walking to the group round the Badger herself.

            “Um … I’m sorry to interrupt Daine, but food’s going to be served. Can I get you or our guest anything?”

            Daine looked up, eyes amused but smoky. “I doubt it, Kel. I think we’re about done.”

            The Badger also looked up. _Your offer is kind, Protector, but needless. I will leave shortly._

“Alright. Thank you for coming, my Lord.” He snorted, amused at the title, and she hesitated but asked anyway. “Can you tell me, if you will, whose power opened the way for Lord Gainel?”

            _Sakuyo._ He sounded interested. _It was unexpected but you must ask him. I don’t understand tricksters. The People have more sense._

            “Thank you.” Her eyes met Numair’s, but he just grinned, shrugging, and she considered Lord Sakuyo’s shrine ironically before giving the slight bow her kimonos permitted and setting about social duties—or trying to, for the evening became a long blur of strange conversations with women. Daine was first, joining the high table late with apologies, and telling Kel quietly when she had a chance that her parents were pleased with the offerings and the Badger had been conveying a message that might be good news but she’d rather not say more until it was confirmed. When they’d adjourned to the green where musicians were playing and couples dancing Kel found herself towed away from a conversation with Shinko by Duchess Wilina to the nearest quiet corner. Half-expecting a scolding Kel found herself instead recipient of a breathless apology.

            “Lady Keladry, I’m sorry I’ve been such a grump, I didn’t mean to be, but I _hate_ this war and having Nealan and Yukimi in danger here, as well as dear Ryokel, I found it hard not to resent you for their loyalty even though Baird told me I was being silly, and I knew I was really but I don’t think I could bear it if … well, no matter. I was wrong.” The torrent of words slowed. “Belian’s and Marra’s pain has had me on edge anyway—too much of a reminder, as if I needed one—and I didn’t like having all these immortals about but I’d have to be a complete fool not to realise several things after today. Nealan said you’d been distressed by my moods, and you don’t need that.”

            “Your Grace, please don’t worry about it. I can’t imagine the loss you’ve suffered, and I worry about Yuki and Ryokel myself though I can’t deny I’m selfishly glad they’re here.”

            “Well, they’re in the best possible hands, yours and the gods’.”

            With apology given and accepted there wasn’t much else for them to talk about but Kel asked how Ryokel had coped with the day and endured enthusiastic answers until she could thank Wilina and return her to a ruefully smiling Baird. Looking around for her parents and Tobe she was distracted by sight of Alanna on the alure, gazing into the darkness, and lifting her kimonos Kel climbed the stairway to join her. Alanna said nothing and Kel thought she’d just ask anyway.

            “Are you alright? Did you get news from your husband?”

            “Yes.” Alanna sighed. “He said he’d had to tell you Aly was missing, even though he hadn’t told me.”

            “I’m sorry, Alanna. His reasons seemed sound. Did he find her?”

            “I’m not so sure about sound but yes, he’s found her.”

            “In Rajmuat?”

            “No, on Lombyn. Bur she’s not coming home, not yet anyway.” Kel looked surprise and Alanna shrugged. “It sounds a long story and I don’t know it all yet, but she’s got herself mixed up in something that sounds way over her head. And the Isles are a mess however you look at them.”

            “Oh. Is the Crooked God involved?”

            Purple eyes flared. “Not that I know. Should I expect him to be?”

            “I’m not sure. Do you know about Irnai’s message from Shakith?”

            “Shakith? No, only that George said he’d been given reason to believe Aly was in the Copper Isles. What has Shakith to do with it?”

            Kel told her, adding Cloestra’s observations about Kyprioth and stirring. “I’ve no idea what it’s about, Alanna, but I am beginning to think the trickster gods are at least as deep in all this as any of them. Did you feel that power before the smell of blossoms?”

            “I did—do you know what it was? Gainel can’t do things like that.”

            “The Badger said it was Lord Sakuyo, who seems to have adopted us. Having him laugh here again is dazzling, and then this extra display. But maybe they’re meant to be dazzling, and distracting—he’s way off his territory, and after that business with the Hag, and the Crooked God at work too—well, I’ve stopped believing in coincidence. And all these tricksters turning up makes me wonder.”

            “About?”

            “There’s only one timeway, right? So if it’s heading for a crisis or whatever this roil in it is, shouldn’t that affect everywhere? Or more places than here, at any rate? And though this makes my head hurt, it must affect any prophecies that haven’t been fulfilled, mustn’t it?”

            Alanna frowned. “I suppose.”

            “Well, that includes the Kyprish Prophecy Shakith mentioned, which Numair says is about restoring _raka_ queens and the Crooked God to the status he had before the Rittevon conquest. So I wondered if he was trying to take advantage of the timeway problem, to bring about the fulfilment of that prophecy, and had recruited other tricksters.”

            “Huh. That’s a thought. Have you mentioned it to Jon?”

            “No—I try to avoid gods with him if I possibly can.”

            Alanna smiled tiredly. “Understandable. He’s not impious—he just doesn’t like people more powerful than he is. And if the tricksters _are_ up to something there’s not much we can do. I’m just worrying about Aly, and have a nasty suspicion George is going to tell me she’s grown up and made her decisions. But I’ll tell him your thought.”

            “Gods know I understand your worry, Alanna, but it might not be all bad, you know. If we win through here I assume Maggur will be gone from the Bloody Throne, and if the Rittevons are gone too …”

            “We can hope. But despite today’s marvels—and it was a good ceremony, Kel, with a fine celebrant—I can’t help remembering Princess Josiane and wondering if payment is falling due. Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m just feeling blood on my hands today. I need to heal somebody.”

            Kel could offer the practical advice that Baird and Neal still had one or two tricky cases to deal with among the men of New Hope Second. Reben’s bleeding guts had been fixed, but there was a man with a weak heart and another who’d been a very heavy drinker before being caught, and Alanna perked up at the thought, though she’d be leaving in the morning—but the underlying problems could only be waited on and the whole conversation was nigglingly unsatisfactory, leaving Kel restless. Her mood wasn’t helped by encountering the Hollyroses, and there was little she could do to satisfy their curiosity about the Badger except refer them to Daine. Lady Marra’s desire to talk of Merric was understandable and her grief had to be respected, but Kel didn’t want to dwell on the dead and at the first opportunity excused herself.

            The last female conversation was with her mother and more peaceful, though Kel found her mention of her own death had left her mother unusually sentimental and that she’d been talking to Tobe.

            “He says everything’s as good as it can be until the war’s done—and won’t that be a welcome day—but that you work much too hard and do precious little else.”

            “Oh I don’t know, Mama. Commanding anywhere’s a full-time job, but I’ve been fletching and spending time with Yuki and Neal, and Daine.”

            “Which means Ryokel and Sarralyn as much as your friends. And fletching’s not exactly not work, sweeting.”

            “Maybe. It’s relaxing, though. You need a clear mind and steady hand. It lets the small stuff of the day float away.”

            “And the big stuff?”

            “There’s nothing I can do about that, Mama.”

            “Except all you do do. You look older every time I see you, sweeting, and … lonely, I suppose. I do understand what command means, but I think it’s much harder on you than people realise. And harder than it would be for a man. I just wish I could help.”

            “You do, Mama. And if I’m lonely sometimes, well, there’s always a price for rank and privilege. I’m not complaining.”

            “As if you would.”

            Uncomfortable despite herself Kel turned the talk to Mindelan and siblings, but her mother’s eyes stayed bright and she felt like a girl again, solemnly giving assurances her desire to be a knight wasn’t a reaction to anything her sisters said about her prospects. It hadn’t been, though she now understood why her mother had been concerned; but it was water under the bridge and she let family gossip soothe her until Wyldon stopped by to say goodnight and she was guiltily recalled to her duties as hostess. Despite his protests she walked with him as far as the cavemouth, and was pleased to find his mood improved.

            “It’s hard to stay low surrounded by marvels, Keladry.” He shook his head. “The Badger hasn’t changed—appearing at the most unlikely moments—but to hear the gods’ voices again …” His eyes lit with his smile. “And you made a fine priest, however irregular the ceremony.”

            “Don’t you start. How anyone is supposed to witness their own oath I still have no idea.”

            “But you did it very nicely. And without turning us to business I do like what I’ve been hearing from the escort commanders. And Sir Voelden. I doubt I’ve ever made a better decision than to put you at Haven. Now, go enjoy yourself while I write to my wife.”

            As often his praise embarrassed her but there was warmth in that, and she couldn’t deny she’d been pleased to make a good professional impression on the escorts, and with Voelden’s participation. Enjoyment would have to wait, though, and she managed over the next hour to catch up with people she’d been neglecting, from assorted immortals, Roald, and Haryse to the commoner parents and Stanar. The prisoners had managed to get themselves drunk on what she suspected was very green beer, without melancholy or rowdiness, and were listening with Kawit and Kitten to Stanar telling a long story Kel realised from rhythm and alliteration must be one of the sagas he’d mentioned. The hero was a prince who had a problem with a dragon of the _eald uhtsceatha_ kind eating people and lying about on a great heap of stolen gold between meals; it sounded unlikely and from the amusement in Kawit’s eyes and indignation in Kitten’s Kel thought there’d be a lively critique before the evening was out.

            Looking round she saw Roald escorting Shinko towards their rooms, arms around one another, and realised a lot of people had retired, including almost all couples of whatever age. The senior guests to whom she felt an obligation were gone, and even her parents had disappeared; the spidrens and Junior had departed, and stormwings that remained were roosting, heads pulled within hunched wings. Feeling tiredness in her legs she nevertheless made her evening round, talking to sentries and feeling pleased with their alert cheer; as Dom was off-duty, and she knew his new second, Garran, was nervous about his responsibilities, she included the corral despite the extra walk, and was pleased again to find everything in order under Peachblossom’s beady eye. She took the chance to explain about the gelding and his independent role, resting her hand on his comforting bulk and enjoying the soldiers’ spooked looks when he swivelled his head to glare up at a sentry whose eyes and ears weren’t where they should be. Satisfied, she trudged back through the tunnel, conscious of the weight of her kimonos, and was about to turn off for bed when the sound of pain had her walking on to investigate. Dom was sitting on the path from the gatehouse, hands gripping his leg, and looked up as he heard her steps.

            “Are you alright?”

            “Yes, fine.” He grimaced, hands tightening. “It’s just cramp and some bruising. I was going to check on Garran but as I knocked my leg yesterday it decided it’d done enough walking for today.”

            “Garran’s fine—I’ve just done my round and Peachblossom’s keeping him company. Tunnel sentries are good.” He nodded, face tight with pain. “I bet you didn’t get the bruise treated.”

            “Neal was busy.”

            “I’ve got some of that good bruisebalm Alanna makes. Come on.”

            She offered him a hand and hauled him up. The pain was clearly sharp and she didn’t give him the chance to object but slipped an arm around him and supported him to the door of headquarters. Once inside he could use the wall, and on the stairs the railing she’d had the smiths install mostly because Tobe had a habit of racing up and down. Seeing him to a chair in her sitting room she fetched the bruisebalm—a new pot of the stuff Alanna had made for her as a page, that she’d begged at Midwinter—and excused herself for a moment, to let him use it and shed her kimonos at last. The underdress went too but she kept the fine knee-length shift that was the lowest layer and donned a simple dress that just covered it, wriggling shoulders in relief; kimonos were wonderful but a kind of Yamani mask themselves, reflecting the stillness that was in so many Island matters an ideal. Going to the sitting room she found Dom still clutching his leg, bruisebalm unopened. He looked up, trying to grin and managing only to look anguished.

            “Sorry, Kel. Not ready to walk yet.”

            “I meant you to use it here, Dom. But you look as if you need help.”

            He looked away, voice low. “It’s ugly, Kel.”

            “It’s a wound, Dom. They happen. May I help?”

            He said nothing and she knelt, easing his boot off. The trousers had a cuffstring to stop them riding up, which solved a minor mystery, and the brace had an unexpected elegance to its lines as she unbuckled it and set it aside, but the wound was every bit as bad as she’d imagined, a raw red scallop of thin-skinned flesh stretching from a little below his knee to an inch above his ankle. At its centre the lines of his bones showed, and the bruise across its upper half piled discolouration on deformity; her heart was beating painfully but she let nothing show and set the opened bruisebalm at her side.

            “Applying this is going to hurt no matter what, but it works fast.”

            He nodded, looking away, dull shame reddening cheek and neck. She dabbed bruisebalm gently on irregular blotching, wondering what he’d hurt himself on, before daring to smooth it in, and marvelled at the heat of damaged flesh. He couldn’t stifle relief and at last looked at her.

            “Gods, that’s good stuff, Kel.”

            “Isn’t it? Alanna’s a marvel. I don’t know what I’d have done without it as a page, and it’s come in handy with Tobe—how he manages to bang himself up so often I have no idea.”

            “It’s a boy’s gift, Kel. I always had bumps and scrapes at his age.”

            “I bet. And now you’ve got cramp as well, haven’t you?”

            He nodded, wearily. “Often. It’s the muscle left above that horror, all at a loose end Uncle Baird says.”

            She snorted softly. “Healers! You know the first press is going to hurt, but I don’t know how much pressure’s good and what’s just hurting your wound, so you’ll have to tell me.”

            She dug fingertips into the knotted muscle-ends left to him and heard his hiss of pain followed by a better sound as her strength eased the tightness. Sharply aware of his foot resting in her lap, heel pressing against her belly, and of her body beneath thin layers of shift and dress, she also found the rhythm of massage lulling, and awareness of his relaxation as pain left him a purer satisfaction than all the high ceremonies. When he was sagging with a slight smile and eyes closed she set his foot gently down and sat on the chair opposite.

            “Better?”

            “Miraculously.” He opened his eyes, blueness dark in the mingled light of rockice and candles. “I can’t dig my own fingers in like that.”

            “Anytime, Dom.”

            He flushed. “Kel, I can’t—”

            “Yes, you can. Or if I’m on duty Yuki gives a mean massage.”

            “I can’t—”

            “Yes, you can.” She held up a hand. “Did Neal tell you about the elemental of the Chamber and Ordeals?”

            He blinked. “Did Neal tell me what?”

            “You know about knights not being allowed to discuss ordeals?”

            “Yes, of course. It’s forbidden.”

            “No it isn’t—that’s the point.” She settled back, holding his eyes. “I asked the elemental, and it said it didn’t care two hoots what anyone said about what it did. The silence is because of what it does—make people live out their deepest fears and feel ashamed. I watched everyone I love being killed, horribly—my parents and siblings, Yuki and Shinko, Lalasa, you and Neal—and I couldn’t do anything. I was frozen, or crippled, just standing there. You go a little crazy and that’s what it judges you on—like a smith heating metal until it can be shaped with flaws hammered out. The reason no one talks about isn’t because they can’t—they don’t want to because they’re ashamed. So they suffer in silence when all they need do is share—talk it out. Neal thinks it’s the same as having to drain a wound.”

            He was silent for a while before blowing out a breath. “Point taken, Kel. I’m being an idiot again, aren’t I?”

            “No, just a mortal, like most of us. I was as silent as anyone until all the business with Blayce meant I had to talk to the elemental. It was only then I started wondering.”

            He stared at her. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

            “See what?”

            “Kel, knights have been silent for generations about their Ordeals. My da called it the great duty of silence, and the phrase wasn’t his. You were silent all of a year before busting the whole thing wide open.” He shook his head. “Forgive me but I can’t work you out at all. You spend the whole day storming through paperwork, appear at dusk like a goddess, and now—”

            “Like _what?_ Dom, what do you mean, like a goddess?”

            He gestured helplessly. “That’s what I thought when I saw you walking up to the shrines. I _know_ you’ve never done anything like that before, but you were so serene and you held up those babies and _eight_ gods answered you.” His laugh was strained. “And an _enormous_ badger appeared out of nowhere and you didn’t bat an eyelid, just made a joke. What am I supposed to think?”

            “Not that. Anything but that.” Tears were threatening but she wouldn’t shed them before him. “I’m mortal, Dom. You’ve seen me sweat and bleed. I’ve seen me die and I know it’s wrong I’m still here, but please don’t close me out like that.”

            Unthinkingly she’d drawn up her legs, arms round her knees, and when he flushed fiery red realised she’d been immodest and slammed her feet back to the floor, flushing herself.

            His voice was tight. “I should go.”

            “No, please don’t. I’m sorry I was so careless. I don’t … I don’t think of myself like that.”

            “ _You’re_ sorry? You don’t …” His voice trailed away and he took a breath. “Kel, the fault was mine. I’m sorry, I … I haven’t …” His voice went flat. “Women don’t much care for crippled men. But that’s no excuse for thinking of you like that.”

            Understanding unrolled in her head, of a man who’d always been able to find female company when he wanted it, or needed it as soldiers did after combat, finding himself spurned and spurning himself when need was greatest. A man as inhibited as she was herself, who had this night exposed to her gaze and pity the wound that crippled him. The goddess beckoned her, smiling.

            “Like what, Dom? A woman you might desire?” She took a breath. “And suppose I wanted you to think of me like _that?_ ”

            Silence stretched before he met her gaze and she prayed she was right about what she thought she recognised in his eyes.

            “Cleon never did anything more than kiss me, you know. The only … I was a virgin when the tauros raped me.” She knew her voice had flattened and tried to make it rounder, though to her ears she only sounded older. “I have desired you for a long time, Dom. Wanted you. I didn’t suppose you thought of me that way. I didn’t think anyone could.” Her vision was blurring and she furiously blinked away the tears. “I don’t know anything about it. But I want to.” The silence was interminable and she still couldn’t see him clearly.

            “Kel, are you _asking_ me to …”

            “Yes. If you will.”

            “If I _will?_ Gods.” She heard awkward movement and felt her hands gently taken. “Kel, if that’s what you want … it would be my honour.”

            “No, no honour, Dom. No honour, or pity or kindness.”

            She was crying in earnest now, and felt his finger brush tears away.

            “My pleasure, then. Our pleasure, if we will. Look at me, Kel.”

            She did, and slowly, hesitantly, bent her head to meet his.

 

§

 

Tobe was the only one who saw them next morning, investigating the absence of a weapons teacher. It wasn't immodesty that stopped him as he opened the door after a cautious knock to see the sheet thrown off his ma and Captain Dom's hand draped from behind across her breasts, but the peaceful smile on her face and his apprehension of what sleep deep enough to survive his intrusion was worth. For once doors closed behind him as quietly as he could hope, and he tiptoed downstairs, thinking how surprised she'd be to see him cautious instead of helter-skelter. Back in the yard he faced the children, quirking an eyebrow at Gydo and Meech, who was yawning as he held his sister's hand.

            “We’re on our own this morning. Ma’s sleeping in for once and I ain’t waking her. So let’s show ourselves what we can do, eh?”

 

* * * * *

 

Kel woke alone, and took a moment to realise there might be something wrong with that. The bed was still warm from Dom’s body and memory swirled but she was tucked in as she normally never would be on waking, sheet neatly round her, and not altogether consciously she accepted his departure as thoughtful discretion. It was still early if unusually behindhand for her, a little after dawn, and after a moment she guiltily identified the sounds outside as children stacking spears after class.

            She should be doing, but after throwing back the sheet and rising she found herself looking at the image in her mirror with amazement in her heart. The pregnancy charm between her breasts looked no different for having finally been called on, but she had a vivid image of it swinging beneath her, and if there had been no pain she was conscious of a satisfied tenderness as well as bubbling energy, and her lips were puffy. Dressed in her work clothes she sat for a minute, intensely aware of her body but trying to collect her thoughts: she had not one regret and a churning sense of release, but her new relationship created an awkward situation—one that would be against army regulations if they acknowledged the existence of female commanders, and while she didn’t think there’d be a problem at New Hope that didn’t mean others elsewhere wouldn’t try to create one; if they knew. Dom’s discretion had given her an opportunity and reason said she should take it, but besides the part of her wanting to proclaim from the rooftops a lust more aroused than sated she wasn’t sure she _could_ conceal the new knowledge that seemed to shine in her; the grace of it, the wonder and joy. Surely people would have only to look at her and they would know what she had done,  that she had entered a new fellowship?

            Those who greeted her seemed to see nothing odd as she went to the shrines to offer silent, happy thanks to all but especially the Black God and the Goddess. At breakfast she had genuine hunger to assuage, forestalling conversation, and people were blearily uncommunicative anyway. Afterwards the gathering bustle of departures was welcome cover, and she didn’t think Alanna was up to noticing much as she ignored protocol to hug her and whisper hopes for good news from Lombyn; nor was it an intuition she’d expect of Wyldon, though his gaze rested on her curiously before he followed Alanna through the gate. Roald too, having arrived early, thought he’d better get back to Northwatch even though he’d be leaving again for Corus in a month, and Baird went with him, having business with Vanget and Ferghal haMinch. Wilina and Terres were staying another day, so Shinko and her parents were too, and by lunchtime Kel wouldn’t have bet a glass of water that Cricket, Yuki, and her mother hadn’t a fair idea of what had happened; but they said nothing and she wasn’t going to start that conversation.

            With fieldwork limited there were plenty of hands for cleanup, and the work of cooking, bottling, bagging, labelling, and stacking foison. Kel was amused to see Yuki had killed several birds with one stone by asking Wilina to look after Ryokel while she worked in the kitchens, and when the Duchess wandered past the schoolhouse with her charge St’aara recruited her to expound mortal childcare to the children coming of age for that responsibility. As autumn schedules kicked in, with firewood gathering to begin in earnest and decisions about slaughtering or wintering livestock, Kel had plenty to do, and a discussion with Adner about what animals could be kept in the corral, necessitating a trip to see Whitelist and find out how many horses he expected to stable there, kept her focused. But she was continuously conscious of herself, vivid images of the night flickering in her mind, and even such a simple, ordinary business as riding Alder up valley proved a severe distraction from the task in hand. After she’d returned and finalised numbers with Adner there was a meeting with Brodhelm, Verrec, and Sir Voelden, and she agreed to expanded patrolling now fieldwork was reduced. Struck by inspiration she dragged them to see Cloestra and Amourta, now making small flights, and eventually left them working out co-ordinated aerial and ground inspections—Cloestra not minding especially where her exercise flights took her, and Kel wanting to be sure no unwelcome surprises were lurking anywhere near.

            Having dealt with everything on the main level and in the caves it didn’t seem unreasonable to head for the corral. As the day had passed without sight of Dom anxiety had joined joy, with attempts to imagine what they’d say to one another, and it was probably fortunate she met him in one of the zigzags through the limestone, with no-one else in sight and enough corners between them and the guards on the corral entrance and bridge that sound would be indistinct. His eyes lit up when he saw her, wondering and without regret, and anxiety vanished.

            “Kel. I—”

            She stopped him with a kiss, and just held him tightly, head on his shoulder and mouth by his ear. “I’ve been wanting you all day. Practice makes perfect. Come to my room later?”

            “Gladly.” He eased back to see her eyes. “But discreetly, yes?”

            “I want to shout from the rooftops, but yes. I don’t care about anyone here, unless it makes for a military problem, but given how people talk about me …” Anxiety returned. “You don’t—”

            “No. Hush.”

            “If—when—people find out, you might be a target of malice too.”

            “We’ll deal if it happens.”

            “Alright. How’s your leg?”

            His eyes glinted. “Tired, in a way I didn’t expect at all, and much better, thank you. The bruise has almost gone.”

            “More balm tonight.”

            “Oh yes. But we’d better be moving. I was coming to find you with an excuse about checking on these livestock arrangements.”

            By the time they emerged into the corral discussion of how best to reconcile stables and byre had become genuine, and one of the soldiers from the Second with experience as a cowhand—if only, Kel gathered, because it had been advisable to be absent from Corus at various times, and his brother kept a farm—was drawn in. Heading back to the main level Kel passed Yuki helping store apples and roots and managed what she hoped was a reasonable conversation centred on her friend’s gratification at Ryokel’s naming and new status as one of Sakuyo’s Blessed; a condition which Kel pointed out also applied to her mother-in-law. The need for further communication with His Imperial Majesty was real, and Kel headed on to find Shinko and her parents. Their conversation was as absurd as earnest, and had them all wondering if it wouldn’t be easier in the long run to ask the Emperor to assign a Sakuyan divine to New Hope, equipped with a supply of gold-and-jade tokens. Shinko was laughing behind her _shukusen_ , but her eyes were serious.

            “Keladry- _chan_ , I know I cannot say it is no laughing matter but for my honoured uncle it really isn’t.” Shinko’s eyes twinkled. “I know. But really.”

            “I don’t think His Imperial Majesty need worry, Cricket. Listen a moment. What any of you pass on to him, or anyone, is up to you, but I’d rather you kept as quiet as possible otherwise, and didn’t say anything to the King.” Her father raised eyebrows. “I _have_ talked to Alanna about it, Papa, but I try not to wind up discussing gods with His Majesty if I can avoid it—it just makes him fret about things out of his control.” Her mother snorted and others grinned, Shinko again hiding behind her fan. “But I’ve been wondering about Lord Sakuyo and his fellow tricksters.”

            Shinko knew from Roald about Aly and her parents had found out somehow, so Kel was spared explaining that, but the Kyprish Prophecy was new to all, as were Shakith’s confidence to George and Cloestra’s thought about who would be stirring in the Isles; nor had they connected the Hag’s presence during Kel’s death, or felt the power that preceded the overpowering—very Yamani—scent of blossoms, and everyone’s frowns deepened.

            “It depends on this timeway which Diamondflame said mortals can’t understand even if explained, but it doesn’t seem to be like the threat from Uusoae that could have ended everything. Aside from the skullroad thing it seems more a crisis in mortal affairs, big enough for the gods to be concerned but not so big as to unite them. And one thing I’ve learned in the last year is that even when they have the same purpose their right hands don’t always know what their left hands are doing. If Lord Sakuyo’s watching _here_ so closely—laughing twice where he’s hardly known and doing something for Lord Gainel Lord Badger said _was unexpected_ —and _especially_ if he’s in alliance with the Hag and the Crooked God, he’s not going to be stirring anything in Yaman, or wanting anyone else to. Things have been quiet, haven’t they, Shinko?”

            “So far as I know, Keladry- _chan_. In so far as they ever are.” She looked apologetically at them all. “There have been Jindazhen raids, but the wolfships have been too busy here to raid elsewhere.”

            “That’s what I thought. And there’s nothing odd or different?”

            “Not that I’ve heard.”

            “And you’ve heard nothing, Papa, Mama?”

            “Nothing of real concern, my dear.”

            “And Carthak’s the same—those Council papers said all seemed quiet there and Kaddar’s rule increasingly secure. But there’s whatever is happening _here_ , with Maggur and this war, and instability in the Copper Isles with a child-king and what Sir Myles says already sounds like a _very_ violent regency. Two thrones at stake, and a strong prophecy in each case, however different. Alanna thought there might be a connection through her too—from killing Princess Josiane.” Kel hesitated. “And perhaps another factor—problems that have been ignored for too long. From what I can gather the _raka_ have been all but enslaved since the Rittevon conquest—ground down, pushed aside, and treated very badly, so the Crooked God has reason to be angry on their behalf. And here … it’s not the same—and I suspect Maggur’s impiety in using death magic has done more than anything to interest the gods in Tortallan victory—but Scanra’s still a problem we’ve neglected. King Jasson stopped short, and King Roald ignored the north completely. Raiding and a bigger effort every few decades to gain better farming territory have been accepted without anyone asking what drives it, so you could say we’ve been storing up a Maggur for ourselves.”

            “Ouch.” Her father winced. “I’m afraid that’s all too true, my dear. One question that’s been exercising me since those diplomats pitched up is what a peace treaty should look like and I can’t see helpful answers.”

            “Mmm, tell me. But the point is none of that’s true for the Islands, so while I wouldn’t say your uncle can relax, Shinko, I don’t think he needs to worry.” She turned to her parents. “And given the way he trusts you both I wondered if you might write letters to include with Shinko’s. I _am_ very conscious of how kind he’s been, with the glaives and tokens and sending Takemahou- _sensei_ and Lord Kiyomori, and I can just imagine how news of yesterday _might_ go down. But I really do think that if Lord Sakuyo’s here it’s because his business is here—the gods know why. Or maybe they don’t. But either way, here not Yaman.”

            “We can do that, my dear.” Her father’s gaze was appreciative. “That’s an interesting analysis, and the connection through Alanna is one I hadn’t made. It’s odd. I don’t know if you know, but last year Lord Wyldon thought there was a pattern, or echo, between you and Alanna as female knights killing necromancers.”

            “Huh. He’s never mentioned that.” Kel turned the idea and found herself remembering music from the evening before. “Who knows? But Barzha talked about the timeway completing a long spiral, and things like the skullroad coming round again—like echoes. Maybe it’s like melody and harmony in music—a tune and repetitions of bits of it.”

            She didn’t add the joke aspect she and Dom had speculated about, because that kind of irreverence was more soldierly than diplomatic or royal, but there was plenty to chew on. The discussion went on for a while but when it moved to detail of how to tell His Imperial Majesty she made excuses, only to find her mother following her out and tucking an arm through her own.

            “Do you really have work, sweeting, or were you just ducking out?”

            “A bit of both, Mama. I’ve said all I can that’s of any use, and there’s always things to be doing.”

            “Nothing urgent though?”

            “Nothing that can’t wait.”

            “Then walk with me a little. With all the guests I haven’t seen as much of you as I’d hoped. You seem happier today.”

            “Do I?” Kel didn’t dare look at her mother as they climbed to the shelf and started round. “I’m just relieved it went alright yesterday, Mama. Honestly, if I’d wanted to be a priest I could just have gone to the convent and saved everyone ever so much trouble.”

            Her mother laughed. “Hardly, sweeting, though you made a lovely priest, I must say.”

            “Well, it’s not like I’m wondering if anyone’s listening. Wondering which god’s appearance I’m going to have to dodge isn’t quite the same.”

            “Keladry!”

            “It’s true, Mama. Between antlers and badgers and blossom it’s an obstacle course. I suppose it offsets New Hope, because if there’s anything more I can do about the defences I don’t know what it is.”

            “You’re babbling, sweeting. Well, not really—that made sense, I suppose—but you might as well be.”

            Kel took a breath. “Yes, I am. Mama, I—”

            “Shh, sweeting. I’m not prying. I’m just happy for you. When you want to tell us who’s made you happy you will. Just tell me if Tobe knows—I wouldn’t want to say something wrong with him.”

            I don’t know. I have a suspicion … but he will know before you see him again at Mindelan.” They turned the corner by the north tower and Kel leant down carefully. “Dom.”

            “Ah.” Ilane smiled as Kel nodded to Deren and Harrel, heading for the gatehouse. “What a nice man he is.”

            “Yes, he is. But Mama, I’ve no idea what will happen. What’s possible. What duty will demand. And I’m sorry to mention lies with truth, but you know what people have said about me.” Her arm tightened around her mother’s. “I would spare him that, and I can imagine all too well what malice would invent even without the truth that I signed his fitness exemption to appoint him as captain of the corral. Just run that through Runnerspring’s or Torhelm’s minds.”

            Ilane sighed, and kept her voice low. “Gods, yes. You have grown old and wise, haven’t you, sweeting? I think it would be more unpleasant than effective, but you’re not wrong.”

            “Now run it through Lord Sakuyo’s mind, in so far as any of us can.” Kel necessarily stopped as her mother did, between one step and the next, but pulled her back into motion. “And isn’t he most sincere when he’s pulling his greatest jests? I dreamed that _haiku_ I wrote out for him. Grace and hot needles amid blossoms under leaden skies.”

            They descended to the terrace, smiling at Cloestra and Amourta on their way to the shrines. Sakuyo seemed to grin at them and Kel offered him a slight, ironic bow. After a moment her mother followed suit but immediately pulled away, continuing along the terrace.

            “You think you’re a _joke_ he’s playing, sweeting?”

            “The thought crossed my mind. It makes horribly good sense. But it’s a very _practical_ joke. And I don’t think it’s a joke _on_ me, except incidentally. Either way, it’s been a very useful joke so far, whether you’re Tortallan or Yamani. And suppose we didn’t say ‘good joke’, but … I don’t know, ‘brave hand’? Something worth remembering, whatever happens. And staying with gambling, which Lord Sakuyo likes by all accounts, what kind of pot might be at stake? Has Papa noticed that the two nations involved here are Tortall’s remaining enemies? Or wondered what the world might look like if we had peace with Scanra and the Copper Isles as well as Yaman and Carthak?”

            “Huh.” Ilane was silent as they descended to the main level and headed to the green. “I don’t think so, any more than I had. But we will. That’s quite a perspective you have.” They sat on the bench round the flagpole, where Kel’s standard flew high above them, occasionally cracking in the breeze. “It’s hard to know your child has surpassed you, sweeting. You hope for it, but it’s humbling. And I’m betting you don’t see it like that and find it bewildering and embarrassing even though you seem to sail through it all. Don’t ever doubt you make your Papa and me very proud, Keladry. If it wasn’t entirely rude we’d be bursting with it.”

            Kel found herself beyond blinking. “Just don’t ever step back, Mama. Last night Dom tried to say I looked like a goddess yesterday and I told him never to say that. I’m only me, whatever happens.”

            Her mother’s hand tightened on her own. “Alright, sweeting. I can understand that. Though I’ll say there’s no harm being a man’s goddess sometimes, especially in bed. It’s fair useful, as Daine would say.”

            “Mama!”

            “I couldn’t make a goddess blush, now could I?”

            The silence matured into quietness as they watched the bustle of New Hope around them and Amourta’s flapping progress from terrace to infirmary roof and back, eventually producing an irritated Neal who glared, scowled at Amourta’s beaming smile from the rooftree, and retreated. At last Kel pulled herself upright.

            “I really should be about it, Mama. There’s the mailbag to pull together for Shinko’s escort. I’ve done my letters, but there’ll be stuff from the men. Which reminds me, is money alright?”

            “Yes, sweeting. Thank you. The King came through with a handsome purse, and so did His Imperial Majesty when he heard about the Duchy, so we haven’t needed to touch your money.”

            “Of which there is an absurd amount. Remember it does no good with the goldsmith. There are widows and orphans at Mindelan too.”

            “I’ll remember, sweeting, but we’re fine. Go deal with your mailbag.”

            Dinner felt very strange, especially when Kel met Dom’s eyes, but she blessed her mother’s equanimity. Happily Wilina and Terres were talkative, thanking her and urging Neal and Yuki to come to Queenscove at Midwinter, or at least Corus. Kel didn’t know they’d been thinking of staying again, but gathered Yuki had reasons for wanting to stay, including, she’d bet, a clear sense that if she left she’d find it hard to return while war continued. Kel spoke mostly to her father, who while seeming to ramble drew a picture of awareness of New Hope and its products spreading on trade routes and in diplomatic correspondence.

            With an early start planned  and Wilina keen to make the most of her last hours with Ryokel no-one lingered, but with easing fieldwork there were quite a few people sitting out and talking when Kel made her evening round. Aware that on any other night she’d have been delighted at their ease but wishing them all fast asleep she broke through swirling impatience to amusement, and found she didn’t care if or when they found out that she’d … what? Taken a lover? Lived up for the first time to a reputation she’d been saddled with on becoming a page? Discretion was sensible but secrecy needless, and she headed back to her room to see Tobe, Jump, and Nari, and possess herself in patience; Goddess knew she had enough to think about.

            For all she should have been bone-tired next morning she actually felt astonishingly relaxed while full of fizzing energy her body seemed to be releasing like a spring, and her pre-dawn pattern dance flowed with a smoothness that had her mother and Shinko applauding. The laughter in her mother’s eyes and the whisper of “Goddess” in her ear as they embraced was a different balm, and she saw people off with mixed emotions. The loss of Daine and Numair (and Sarralyn) was a blow, and almost everyone was sorry to see Kawit and Kitten go, but she was relieved to have so many important visitors off her hands, and she’d be seeing them all again soon in any case.

            Rather than taking the potentially dangerous Frasrlund road and turning south along the coast her parents were heading south with Wilina as far as the River Oak, forty miles south of Bearsford, and striking west. That far south there should be no Scanran threat but there were other dangers and despite protests Kel provided an escort of Brodhelm’s patrollers who would see them to Mindelan and return via Frasrlund, Steadfast, and Mastiff.

            Clear of guests for the first time in days, routines asserted themselves, with new ones among them. Her concerned caution about Dom’s leg and the limitations she gradually realised it placed on more than his soldiering meant as many nights alone as not, but space and time were necessary to absorb and digest the infinitely many things he was teaching her she had never known about the possibilities of her body; and his. After a few days she gave in to the sparking curiosity in Yuki’s eyes, and found herself shocked by the detail her friend expected.

            “Ah, Keladry- _chan_ , you have spent too much time with boys and not enough with girls. We will have to remedy this.”

            “Will we? It seems very rude.” It might be entertaining, though. “Just don’t tell Neal. I don’t think Dom or I could cope with dramatics right now.”

            Yuki laughed. “Alright. He is exhausted from dealing with his mother, anyway.”

            “Is Wilina a terrible mother-in-law, then?”

            “Oh no. By Yamani standards she is amazingly nice. But to be the only surviving son, well, she is very focused on him and thinks Ryokel should have a brother.” She giggled. “I almost told her one night when she didn’t want us to withdraw that we needed privacy to set about it.”

            Kel couldn’t stop her grin, though the image was one she didn’t want to pursue, and Yuki’s knowledge proved a comfort as well as, once or twice, a resource. Dom, though wondering at her mother’s attitude, was fascinatingly amused by Yuki’s; what he had to say about women was more surprising to Kel than what he had to say about men, and the new world unfolding about and within her became ever more intriguing.

            She was doing inventory with Reben Carpenter and congratulating herself on appointing him when Jacut came to tell her Mikal had been sighted with the other soldiers who’d been on leave. For a few weeks New Hope would be at full compliment, save the squad with her parents, and there were things she and Brodhelm had been thinking about doing with that opportunity. Signing the inventory she asked Reben to notify all knights and captains of a meeting, and dug out her own file of plans and suggestions with a smile she didn’t even notice.


	21. Identity

**Part VI – Samhain**

_October 462 – January 463 HE_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Twenty-One — Identity**

_October – November_

 

The warm spell continued and Adner, with others reckoning themselves weatherwise spoke of a mild, wet winter. Kel found herself in a long exchange with Vanget, Wyldon, Alanna, and Raoul about the implications. Even if the borderlands stayed snow-free no-one could be sure how Scanra would be affected, and for Hamrkeng to be so was by all accounts unheard of; meantime there would be no point at which anyone could relax knowing troop movement was impossible until a thaw.

            One question arising was which commanders would go where. By rights Raoul and Vanget should head south this year, but Kel was expected to address Runnerspring’s complaint and for Lalasa’s wedding, and Alanna had compelling reasons to go south—yet the possibility of winter action had to be provided for. Listening to them argue Kel decided Vanget was perfectly happy to avoid Corus and, less expectedly, Raoul too: she knew he hated the parties, but thought Buri might have liked to get away. Wyldon was ambivalent, wanting to visit Cavall but sufficiently concerned to agree to stay, and lively discussion followed about how many proxies anyone might reasonably hold, from which Kel emerged holding Raoul’s while Vanget’s and Wyldon’s would go to Alanna as the senior commander travelling. Ennor was intending to go south himself, so she wouldn’t bear his this year, and if Wyldon protested that Pirate’s Swoop holding Cavall’s proxy suggested the world turned upside down, Kel suspected he was actually quite amused; it wasn’t as if any of the social issues that most divided them were expected to come up, and in the only likely vote they were in agreement. The thought crossed her mind that he might, however improbably to some, also see extra value in having lady knights as the army’s representatives, and she made a note to ask him about the pattern he’d thought he detected

            After the other links had closed Kel stayed talking to Raoul, discovering Buri didn’t want to travel because she was—just—pregnant. Delighted, she had him call her and gave good wishes in person, quietly reminding her of the goddess’s spiral, before seeking advice about Thayet in relation to Lalasa’s wedding that had Buri grinning and regretting she’d miss it. When Raoul asked after Dom Kel hoped she’d answered naturally but saw Buri give her a look; ignoring it, she suggested one advantage of expected mildness was that Tortallans could travel too, and if it did stay snow-free Wolset and his lads would be welcome at Midwinter  Thereafter conversation meandered, Raoul asking about events at Mabon and Kel about what Rider groups had been up to.

            Closer to home, besides a review of equipment and training, the major exercise Kel and Brodhelm decided was necessary was what they called the Siege Plan—what would happen if New Hope faced a major attack with everyone inside the walls? Fieldworkers didn’t stint on training and were competent and cool-minded, but beyond self-defence their orders in the event of an attack were simply to get themselves and if possible livestock to shelter, and they’d never been tested on what would ensue if an attack were more than a raid. Over the long farming season even guards forgot about assignments and duty stations _inside_ the walls; on top of which such training had never been properly given to newer Tirrsmonters and immortals, nor to New Hope Second, while the addition of the corral had consequences.

            As mistakes piled up Kel and Brodhelm watched with resignation. That evening Kel spoke to everyone, going through the functions involved as clearly as possible for something so complex. Defence of the walls was the imperative, and while first responsibility fell to the companies everyone bar the youngest and frailest had a station on the alures if called on. Short of that there were a score of things needed to maintain defence and should opportunity arise prepare a sally—food, water, and relief between attacks, resupply of ammunition, and evacuations to the infirmary, all without getting in the way of the reserve. Neal would need extra hands, as would the cooks, while any sally force would need horses ready; and livestock needed looking after even if the usual people were busy. Those who couldn’t fight or had charge of infants needed to stay safe in the caves, where prisoners would confine themselves, but older children had parts to play, as did immortals—and once you factored in casualties there were the joys of cross-training and secondary stations.

            Beyond the concomitants of any siege there were nightmare scenarios Kel insisted everyone practice—fighting retreats to caves-and-corral with as much livestock as possible. Assault would probably come through the gatehouse, which would require one formation, but if enemies somehow came over or through walls something else would be required; and if there were a period when the outer wall was lost but the inner still held, something different again. She took questions, giving crisp answers, and when Lasner asked whether she _really_ thought an attack could happen, spoke openly for the first time of the prophecy.

            It was a calculated decision. After Dom’s comment Kel had made discreet enquiries and found he was right—most adults knew something, and she’d concluded that as secrecy could no longer be served accuracy was preferable. So having talked to Irnai, who’d shrugged, she told them all what the seer had cried out in that unearthly voice.

            “Queen Barzha said it, people—Shakith didn’t say that, in that way, because there was going to be a raid or skirmish. We don’t know if it will be a thousand or ten thousand Scanrans. We don’t know when, or what their plans will be except Maggur wants me dead and New Hope gone. But we do know that sooner or later they have to come and we have to survive. I hope we can win and that’s why the war will be over. But surviving comes first and we _will_ be ready, so we’ll be drilling each bit, and then do today again. As often as necessary.”

            They grumbled about disruption but took drills seriously, with rapid effects. There were also, besides everything arising about the sally force, the defences beyond the walls, and with rockfalls an open question about their best targets—troops, mages, command groups, siege engines, or wagons. Having heard her captains argue in circles Kel convened a full meeting of the Council, and asked for ideas. Besides collecting an interesting set of viewpoints and a memorable analysis from Quenuresh that coincided with her own instincts, Kel also had questions about immortals’ self-defensive capacities that hadn’t been sufficiently explored. If one was considering such things as siege engines—trebuchets, catapults, or mangonels—it was notable that basilisks could shatter stone as well as make and meld it; and that a spidren who could pass unseen through a city might do as much to an army camp. Knowing animals could within their limits spy and take other actions, as Kel, Dom, and Uinse knew from their fights on the way to Rathhausak. And then there were the stormwings.

            The principal reason Kel hadn’t held a full Council for so long was to allow Barzha to settle and New Hope to accrue credit with the Stone Tree Nation. Now she kept her word by promise and treaty, and the meeting was held with shutters wide and a scrupulously clean Barzha perched on the sill. For the most part she kept silent, though the relative values of targets provoked tart observations, drawing her further into the collective enterprise of defence; but the question of more active contributions couldn’t be avoided and Kel sat back, turning to look at the stormwing queen directly.

            “Your Majesty, I’ve had long conversations with the Godborn and others who fought in the Immortals War, and I understand stormwings are vulnerable to arrows and magery. Within the limits of our treaty you may of course have your own priorities on the battlefield, but all of your Nation are welcome to shelter at New Hope when you wish. The only thing I ask is cleanliness—illness is a great weapon for besiegers—and I explicitly do _not_ ask you to fight. But aerial reconnaissance—from having a look at whatever’s coming as soon as we know it’s there to surveying any camp—could be invaluable.”

            Barzha nodded, claws screeching on the stone. “I hear you, Protector, and how carefully you ask, so I will be frank. We remain undecided about this. I am willing, as are a majority of my flock, but others are cautious and I am loath to command them against their wills. We lost many in the Immortals War besides Rikash Moonsword and alliance with mortals is not easy.” Her face, regal and austere, was a testimony to grief and diminution. “And well may the Godborn remind you of our vulnerability—she may be the greatest stormwing slayer in history, not only of such as Zhaneh Bitterclaws who needed killing as much as the Kinslayer.”

            Kel saw surprise on people’s faces—for all her strangeness Daine didn’t seem one who could have such a reputation—but she knew how hard won friendship with Rikash had been. With the tale of Dunlath the story had been an inspiration for Kel. Barzha saw the surprise too.

            “Oh yes. Don’t _ever_ stand between the Godborn and one she loves. But much has happened since, and we have seen the ease of Cloestra’s laying, with the Green Lady’s aid. As much as Amourta’s bond to this place those are things none can ignore. I watch the timeway, and have thought on centuries to come. So yes, Protector, I promise that when battle comes you will have stormwings to fly for you—myself, Hebakh, and Cloestra if no others—but I cannot promise more.”

            “Thank you, Your Majesty—that is fairly spoken. We must address how to summon you at need, and what we wish you to be alert for.”

            Slowly answers were hammered out, and over the next fortnight tested and emended. Stormwings could flash light from their wings with precision, and Barzha and Hebakh at least could also cast light, wormy and silver, so in the end that aspect was satisfactory. Moving large numbers of horses through the tunnel was less so, and Tobe instituted a by-tens rule, with space between each string to prevent congestion in the zigzag. Conflicting duty assignments were also uncovered and resolved—a matter of chagrin for Kel and Brodhelm, but inevitable with so many people and permutations involved.

            More excitingly, as a reward for the horses’ endurance of the tunnel, Kel authorised exercises in sallying. With patrols out, pickets posted, stormwing surveillance, and a centaur promise to watch the woods carefully, she could be reasonably certain the corral and upper valley were unobserved, and groups of varying sizes practiced getting over the drawbridge and round the fin at maximum speed. As numbers ramped up, drawing in soldiers from all stations, redistribution and reinforcement of those who remained with civilian squads was worked out, culminating in a full-blown sudden sally exercise with the largest force New Hope could field. More than three hundred soldiers filed rapidly from alures and jogged through the tunnel to horses saddled and waiting, while as many civilians took their places as smoothly as a regular change of shift. It wasn’t like-for-like but heavy arrow-fire and competent close defence could be maintained while a force capable of doing real damage got itself round the fin and back. By day’s end everyone was tired but pleased, and Kel lavished praise before saying cheerfully drills would continue throughout the winter.

            She also had a coldly professional session with captains, knights, and company seconds, on the gatehouse roof with clear views of the various killing fields and the large, carefully organised case of mageblast keys as a compelling prop. She began by itemising the forces they might face—irregulars, regulars, loyalist and conscripted, and special forces from troops of frothing _beserkir_ to giants, any of which might have mage support. The point of killing fields was to kill—not repel, but trap into slaughter—and Kel went through ways in which that horror could be carried out, forcing them to make professional estimates of numbers. There was also the question of when killing ceased to be best, and creating large numbers of wounded became a more effective and demoralising hindrance.

            If enemies charged the roadway how many men would be caught between first and last pit-traps? How many would die on stakes? How many arrows would ensure any left standing were swiftly dead or beyond fighting? And how many should be allowed to pass the uppermost trap before it was blown? How long would it take to kill them all? How were arrows to be retrieved? In what order should pits be used to maximise enemy casualties on each occasion? And when would the bombs in the roadway wall do most damage? In the killing field between the walls what damage would spikes alone do? and the best uses of blazebalm, crossbow fire, and slingshot? In the barbican should basilisk-heated urine be poured through murder-holes before or after the roadway pit was blown? Long before they were done Seaver, Prosper, and Neal were green and everyone grim-faced.

            “I pray it doesn’t come to that, or anything like. But I think it will, and there is one possible benefit, because if Maggur’s serious about taking New Hope he’s going to have to send troops who can absorb heavy casualties and keep coming. Gods know Scanrans aren’t short of courage but that takes more, and we know he’s got loyalty problems. But if he does send his best, he’s sending the men who keep him on the Bloody Throne, who took him from Rathhausak to Hamrkeng, didn’t blink at necromancy, and enforce his hostage policy. And if we can force him to expend _them_ against our killing fields—ideally, expend them _all_ —then we won’t just win here, we’ll open the way to end the war fast and hard, and lay a foundation for peace that might last.” She let them absorb it. “One more thing—mageblasts are command business, and my hands will be on them. I’ve come to believe that may be why the Black God’s behaved to me as he has. But if I fall, or they strike while I’m away, you all need to be able to do what has to be done. Make no mistake, people—a protracted siege is unworkable, because Tortallan reinforcements would come in sufficient numbers to force a retreat or trap them. So if they come they _have_ to assault, sooner rather than later, and when they do we _have_ to bleed them and bleed them again. You can hope it won’t fall to you, but settle yourselves to the possibility.”

            The flat approval of Brodhelm and other regulars, as well as Uinse and Jacut, helped the knights accept it, though substitution of butchery for chivalry grated. Kel made a point of talking to them all over the next days: Neal understood—he just didn’t like it—but Yuki was more ruthless, as Kel was, and saw him through it. Seaver was more of a puzzle, and Kel uncharitably thought even his distress was tempered by his laziness. Prosper was most deeply troubled, but it was disjunction between understanding a need and facing practicalities. He hadn’t had a knight master like Raoul or Alanna, who might epitomise chivalry but also worked with the army and knew what a limited part ideals could play in war, and hadn’t yet met the kraken himself in the kind of combat that killed companies and broke armies. He knew it and there wasn’t much Kel could do, but she made an effort to fill out the larger picture: such slaughters didn’t happen often, even by immortals’ reckoning, but history taught clearly the consequences of turning defeat into annihilation _and_ those of failing to do so if opportunity offered. And if what she would do at need diminished her in his eyes, so much the better.

            She said as much to Dom in night watches they stole together, usually in her rooms. Lying with her head on his chest, marvelling at him, or massaging his leg, strong fingers digging to loosen kinked muscle, she had begun to learn the pleasures of confidence. He had more experience of intimacy but never, as he mock-solemnly pointed out, with a woman like her, and in convalescence he had become tightly closed; he also had a harder time than she accepting divine intercessions, yet had to do so more abruptly. Speaking at first to his chest but later to his face she had told him all the Black God, Hag, and Goddess had done; with him inhibitions of shame were meaningless. He held her tightly, and after asking some questions and letting it turn in his mind kissed her gently.

            “Kel, you know I can’t get my head around gods like that, but I’ll be thanking them sincerely. The Black God, especially. And the Goddess, for very rude reasons.” He kissed her nose, making her smile. “And I’m not sure why, but I like the idea he absolved you of those you send to him because he knew there’d have to be a lot of them before this thing is done _much_ more than the way that worked with your executing Rogal. I understand what you were doing then better, though. Was that what you’d told Uncle Baird about the day of Merric’s funeral.”

            “Yes. I couldn’t bear it just then, and he was being kind. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

            “Don’t be. I wouldn’t have told me, if that makes sense.”

            “Maybe, but quite a few people know by now. Neal and Yuki, my parents, and Belian and Marra.”

            “You told Merric’s parents?”

            “Everyone I asked said telling them about his ghost and Rogal’s was right, and it made no sense without the Black God’s gift to me.”

            “Huh. No wonder they looked poleaxed.”

            “They prayed at Rogal’s grave as well as Merric’s. Well, Marra did, but Belian went along.”

            “If Uncle Baird and Aunt Wilina had had that offer when Graeme and Willam were killed—knowing them safe in the god’s arms, and the soldiers who’d killed them dead and forgiven as well—they’d have taken it with both hands.”

            Kel hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but Dom was right. Better still was that acceptance of what she might have to do didn’t stop him holding her, kissing her, wanting her. Wanting _her_. In a very male way he seemed to think himself as blessed by the Goddess’s repairs as she was, and she enjoyed the results too much to argue, but kindness and accrued friendship were enriched by whatever might be growing between them, and she was moved to tears by that fact.

            In turn he told her things she didn’t think he’d spoken of to anyone, or not in the same way—seductions he’d thought a soldier’s perk and known as a soldier’s need, and the disjunction there’d always been between haunting intimacies of war and assuaging intimacies of the bedchamber; a disjunction she resolved. His uncertainties didn’t bother her; she was profoundly uncertain herself, and as nights passed conversations spread, dealing with facts but engaging with hopes. Both knew there were other possibilities than a happy future, and though after finding her invisible bracelet he resisted her morbidity about her chances he acknowledged the shadow of the timeway; they could equally assume survival, especially when it came to comforting dreams. He didn’t shy from the idea of marriage, though dubious of his suitability, but a wild flight into the noble complications if she did become a baroness was enough to have them both looking perfectly appalled until Kel declared she’d just hand the whole problem of precedence to Master Oakbridge. That called for explanation of what the fussy etiquette master was like to serve, followed by demonstration of bows and graces he demanded; as she hadn’t put any clothes on the results weren’t what she’d anticipated.

            She kept her promise to her mother and sat down with Tobe to make sure he knew. Quite what he thought about men and women she wasn’t sure, but he’d known the facts of life as early as any neglected child in a busy inn, understood what trust and loyalty meant, and already loved Dom, so all was well. To see them together was a boon that made Kel feel warmly sentimental, and the only indiscreet thing Dom did was to join her in teaching the dawn class. She saw looks from older ones when they arrived together with Tobe, and received an urchin grin from Loesia, but that worried her as little as the speculation in Connac’s gaze when his shift pattern brought the new arrangement to his notice.

            What worried her more was that she’d miss Dom horribly while she was away. To have always been without was one thing; to have a new discovery taken away quite another—but he laughed ruefully and told her a number of remarkable things soldiers—men—said about this condition, adding that it made reunions very satisfactory. That was a thought to ponder, and he added, intriguingly, that the best poem among many Neal had wished on him down the years had dealt with the problem very justly, but Neal had called him a soulless puppet of the flesh and insisted it was about something else altogether. He didn’t remember its title or author, setting a nice problem in finding it without asking Neal, who remained blissfully ignorant—to Yuki’s amusement and Kel’s relief.

            Soon after the ides the squad who’d been to Mindelan returned with mailbags. Confirming their arrival to Wyldon Kel found him unusually agitated, waving a letter, but alarm dissipated as she gathered Owen had been sufficiently emboldened by good reports on his stint as second to ask permission to court Margarry of Cavall.

            “It’s all very well you smiling, Keladry, but she’s barely eighteen and wilful with it, and he’s still a madcap hellion on his good days.”

            “He’s asking properly, Wyldon, and he’s been serious about someone for a while. I didn’t know it was Margarry but that explains how hesitant he was.” She couldn’t hold back a smile. “As to being a hellion, he needs to be. You’re very intimidating as a prospective father-in-law, you know.”

            “So I should hope!”

            “And he’s bearded you in the most traditional way.”

            “I know.” He sounded gloomy. “It makes it difficult to refuse.”

            “Perhaps you should set him three impossible tasks.”

            He scowled. “You wait until your daughters bring home hellions.”

            To Kel in her present state of mind that was a dream, and she left him scowling to write Owen a letter of encouragement and praise on his reports. This she could convey to Neal, who whooped, declared Owen brave to the point of lunacy, which they all knew, and wrote himself with advice about poetry Kel hoped Owen would have the sense to ignore. She also reported her suggestion about impossible tasks, spurring ridiculous suggestions, and the running joke leavened the aftermath of what Kel had had to say about killing fields and the continuing drills.

            It was for Kel what she slowly realised was a happy time, anxieties ameliorated if never vanquished. She was working hard and training was visibly paying off, so her drive to do her utmost was assuaged, and the wonders of her nights left her as relaxed as she could remember and too tired to fret over things she couldn’t do anything about. Yuki’s amusement at the cause of her new grace with her glaive didn’t stop her becoming very thoughtful after one especially good display and giving Kel the formal bow to a _sensei_ of weapons, which pleased her enormously; it was not something Yuki would do lightly, and in her years at the Yamani court she’d seen the _sensei_ who lived or performed there—people Kel had watched avidly and dreamed of emulating before Alanna focussed her on knighthood. She had an extra bounce in her step for several days, and a cheerfully proud explanation to offer anyone who noticed, but with November looming sunshine at last disappeared into grey days and rain, though the air remained mild. Considering the calendar Kel knew she should be on her way to Mindelan, felt her reluctance, and with a deep breath gave orders for an escort to prepare.

 

* * * * *

 

The journey was interesting, despite drizzle and a lulling quiet in which the party seemed the only people moving in the world. At Mastiff she managed a conversation with Wyldon, finding that during discussion of proxies he _had_ wondered about coincidences involving lady knights and necromancers, but had nothing to add. The facts were as they were, and however odd the generational echo it wasn’t of any practical use either could see. He did remark how well she looked, and for a moment conscience tried to tell her she owed him honesty in a matter that could be construed as military business, but she decided for once discretion was the better part of valour; the less fuss the better, and she wanted to cherish her good fortune inside herself, as she might cup hands around a warm mug in winter.

            At Steadfast Buri’s assessing gaze was sharper but she said nothing though she gave Kel a warm hug and seemed pleased for her—if Kel was reading her rightly through her joy in pregnancy. Given Buri’s age Raoul worried about the chanciness of childbed; Kel made sure he was aware of the Green Lady’s gift, seeing plans for a New Hope delivery wheel in his eyes. It was the first time Kel had seen them together since their wedding, and she was amused by the Kmiri hangings and rugs transforming Raoul’s quarters. Buri’s weapons and armour were neatly stacked, as ready as Raoul’s, but as she said, laughing, when Kel complimented her, working with military austerity didn’t mean you had to come home to it, and rugs had more than one use.

            Kel sought out Wolset and his men, delivering the letter Dom owed them. The children were warmly welcomed, all of them conscious of other soldiers listening as they caught up, adding assurances of Dom’s well-being. Wolset’s account of the action that had seen Dom’s wound, others chipping in, was a fascinating counterpoint to his own, marked by incredulity that the Scanran had survived the wound that took him down, let alone managed a blow; Dom’s sense of foolish error was entirely missing. Kel repeated their standing invitation to New Hope and suggested they bend my Lord’s ear to remind him of his promise.

            It was Samhain, and after eating Kel and the children watched the festivities, enjoying the bonfire. She’d held a minimal ceremony at New Hope the year before, but she’d been withdrawn and in the wake of a memorable Mabon and the deadly attack that followed no-one wanted more. Here it seemed a more important feast, not only as a break from routine; folk had come in from some way around, taking the chance to trade but more for company. Commander’s eyes had made Kel aware of soldiers’ liaisons on such occasions but she watched with new imagination until Wolset came to drag them to hear a storyteller.

            His reasons became clear as the old man began a tale of the Wild Hunt Kel had never heard. His hands were gnarled but his voice was strong and full of drama as a man who killed his neighbour in a foolish dispute found himself pursued by red-eyed hounds who could not lose the scent of guilt, baying him for their antlered, owl-eyed master; when the sun rose his body was found on his victim’s doorstep, face filled with terror, the ground marked with the pawprints of giant hounds. Seeing Tobe and Irnai the man’s eyes lit up and he pitched the story carefully for them, so after he’d finished Kel went with them to thank him.

            “You’m welcome, lady. It’s good to see new faces. The old ones ’ave ’eard all me stories long since.”

            “No odds with such a teller.” He grinned. “I noticed you didn’t name the master of the hunt. Would I be right to think it’s Lord Weiryn?”

            “Right and wrong, lady.”

            “Oh?” She sat, drawing the children into the circle of her arms.

            “Leastwise, it is Lord Weiryn but not as you’d meet ’im in the woods, out settin’ snares or the like, nor on Beltane, like they say the Green Lady did. He’s not the same when ’e leads the ’Unt, and my Da who taught me the stories never would name ’im then, so I don’t neither.”

            “Huh.” She could sense Tobe’s desire to speak of the god he’d met and squeezed his shoulder. “Can you say how different? Is it just hunting for the pot and for justice, or is there more to it?”

            “When you meets ’im in the woods ’e’s always alone, they say, and mayhap ’e’ll answer if you speak ’im fair, but there’s no talking when ’e’s running with ’is ’ounds.”

            “And the Hunt cannot fail of its prey.”

            “That’s right.”

            “Nor mistake it? Have you ever heard tales of the Hunt being wrong? Of a justice that was uncertain?”

            “Not one, lady. There’s tales like that of King’s Justice but never the ’Unt. It’s guilt those red-eyed ’ounds smell, and if you’m not the one they’ll pass you by.” He cocked his head. “Why’m you askin’, lady?”

            “I was thinking of the shrine to Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady at New Hope.”

            “Ah. They say they graced them when they was dedicated, but they says a lot of that place. Was you there?”

            “Yes, that story’s true. He and the Green Lady appeared.”

            Kel described events as if seen from the crowd and the children caught on. The old man’s eyes were wide as he nodded at details of clothing and antlers and Tobe’s mention of the bow given ‘Lady Kel’.

            “Well, that’s somethin’ you don’t ’ear every day. May’ap if old Maggur falls off ’is throne I’ll pay them shrines a visit. I’ve told tales of Lord Weiryn all me life and I’d be glad to give ’im thanks.”

            “And mayhap we’ll push Maggur off that throne so you can.”

            They left him with a look in his eyes Kel found mirrored in Tobe’s and Irnai’s. She didn’t need to explain why she’d chosen discretion, but they were curious about why she’d been interested in the Hunt.

            “I’m not sure, but his story reminded me Daine never talks about the Hunt or that side of her da. I don’t know what she knows—I think she sees him mostly with her ma, and I don’t suppose he brings the Hunt home. Queenclaw wouldn’t like it.” They’d enjoyed stories of the cat goddess ordering people to stroke her, and had lively imaginations of the Green Lady’s kitchen. “But I was thinking we ought to thank all of him. And that those red-eyed hounds are like Provost’s Dogs, only more so.”

            Riding on for Frasrlund the children asked for other tales of the Hunt. Kel and the escorting soldiers knew a few, but lacked the old man’s skill as a teller. Kel also had eyes on the landscape, beyond Steadfast new in detail if not in kind. They were following the Vassa as the great river cleared the Grimholds and found the plain beyond that stretched to the sea. It widened but still flowed cold and fast, and the lowlands were made for farming—or should have been. On the Tortallan side were plenty of abandoned buildings and as they neared Frasrlund more that were beginning to be restored, but on the Scanran side Kel’s spyglass showed fewer structures and ploughed land run wholly to seed.

            At its meeting with the sea the Vassa split into a deep northern and shallower southern arm; Frasrlund perched on a rocky island between, joined to the rest of Tortall by a causeway that could only be crossed at low tide. They were out of luck on arrival but the children didn’t mind, staring at the grey expanse of ocean with open mouths, and Kel was shocked to realise neither had ever seen the sea. After they’d rubbed down the horses she walked with them on foreshore and beach, explaining dangers and wonders and tides; rock pools yielded starfish and crabs but the waves meant skipping stones was out and the chill damp sent them back to the inn attached to the guardhouse.

            Folk were gathering for low tide and their escort had made themselves at home in the parlour, so they found themselves greeted with a mix of solemn regard, cautious deference, and avid curiosity that would have been amusing if it wasn’t irritating. Brodhelm hadn’t been exaggerating and opportunities to speak plainly shouldn’t be passed up, so Kel made herself answer questions, stressing the contributions of immortals and acknowledging blessings, attributed firmly to divine disgust with necromancy. Tobe and Irnai told the Rathhausak story, and Kel saw familiarity from her report made it more eagerly received than denials of stranger ideas about New Hope. People were odd, she thought, but made sure to say New Hope would welcome visitors when peace allowed and reminded them their own Brodhelm knew the way well.

            At last a guard swung in to say the causeway would shortly be open, and they made farewells. The pitted roadway was lined with seaweed and barnacles, and Alder picked his way carefully; it made for slow progress but they arrived safely at the city gate to find Alanna and Lord Ennor waiting at the head of a civic reception, the streets behind crowded.

            Graciously acknowledging greetings and introducing the children Kel wanted to glare but realised neither Alanna nor Lord Ennor could have had much choice. The mixed emotions she’d seen in the inn were present at much greater pitches, fed by the density of the small city, and New Hope was fabulous to these people. In the end, glancing at Lord Ennor for permission, she raised her voice and thanked them in the name of New Hope, reminding them that for all its marvels it was less than a week’s ride away. She and the children still had to endure drinks with leading merchants but her polite refusal of wine paved the way to plead collective hunger and Lord Ennor escorted them to the keep where he lived, offering brusque apologies.

            “Couldn’t stop it, my Lady, when they learned you were coming. My congratulations on the way you handled it—well judged.”

            “I had a dry run waiting on the tide. But we’d be genuinely glad of food—lunchtime seems a long way back.”

            “I bet.” He gave the children a shrewd glance. “Freshen up and I’ll get things moving.”

            Alanna came with them, giving Kel a summary of repairs under way and helping Irnai into a dress. Her eyes were on Kel, and as the children scampered out she turned.

            “Would I be right to think you’ve finally put the Goddess’s blessing to some use?” Kel flushed. “That’s answer enough.” She clapped Kel roundly on the shoulder. “High time.”

            Kel glared. “What is it with women? You take one look and know what I’ve been doing behind very closed doors.”

            Alanna gave a dirty laugh. “Your ma and Yuki? Ha. Anyway, the first morning after didn’t you feel everyone could tell just by looking?” She laughed again at Kel’s expression. “I remember that. But it’s not true except for people you know well.” She fell in beside Kel, following the children. “Though I must say in your case it’s plain for those with eyes to see. You were wound tight as a spring, Kel, and now you’re humming. I bet your pattern dances have improved. It’s a side benefit that makes me _really_ grateful to the Goddess.”

            Kel’s fascination overcame embarrassed indignation—milder than it would have been not long ago—but the conversation had to wait as Lord Ennor welcomed them to a laden table. He was a widower and his sons were working in the south of the fief where there’d been damage from wolfship raids the previous year, so they were alone save for a servant who brought and cleared plates. Alanna briskly led Ennor to dispense with vocatives and though Kel thought the children’s presence inhibited him he politely set about finding out for himself, as he put it without apology, what she was really made of.

            He had experience of Yamani traders and was interested in her childhood, but what concerned him were estimates of the strength of New Hope and how it affected the balance of the border. Remembering his support last Midwinter, for which she thanked him, Kel answered crisply but as strategic questions became dominant spoke of Zerhalm, Rathhausakers, and prisoners, bringing Tobe and Irnai in. She didn’t shirk questions her father had asked about the shape of a peace treaty, nor the demands the false ambassadors used as negotiating positions.

            “A fortress is all very well, and right now it’s vital, but we can’t seal the border so if we want to stop this pattern of constant raids and wars every thirty years we have to change conditions in Scanra. And bluntly, the middle classes don’t go raiding on horseback across borders. I’ve heard people say we must punish Scanra, but that won’t work half as well as making it more prosperous. So the question is how to replace Maggur’s way of ruling to _mutual_ advantage?” Kel held Ennor’s gaze. “Take that abandoned farmland north of the Vassa, which hasn’t run to seed like that since war started. When it was working land the produce must have come through you.” He grunted acknowledgement. “And you must want it back, but that means helping, not punishing. And gods know Maggur’s punished Scanra enough. I’ll never forget what we saw in Rathhausak.”

            He grunted again. “I don’t disagree, Keladry, but the southern lords have always refused the investment needed. They’re happy to have trade coming south, but no interest in having the north develop. It’d threaten their dominance.”

            “Tell me.” Alanna’s voice was sour. “George and I have been sending money to Trebond for years and it’s never enough.”

            “But things are changing.” Kel didn’t want to be explicit in front of Tobe and Irnai, not because she feared their discretion but because hopes could be as much burden as boost. “You insisted yourself the log-jam on the Council had been broken, and that was before we knew about the questions concerning Genlith and others.” From his look of distaste she saw Ennor knew what she meant. “If they’re doing what we think those southern lords are going to take a big hit, one way or another. And for my money—and maybe a lot of people’s—the most important thing about New Hope, when it stops being the glacis and palisades, is the Craftsbeings’ Guild, because if webbing, stoneware, and icelights go south money is going to come north. Which reminds me, I brought an icelight rod for you, Ennor—I’m sorry it’s small but they weigh a bit.”

            Alanna grinned. “I warned you, Ennor. A merchant as well as a warrior and priest, eh Kel?”

            She was unabashed. “Certainly. Why should I want New Hope to be a poor fief maintained as a fort at Crown expense? Or to spend thirty years waiting to fight the poor Scanrans again? We’re shipping through Mindelan, because I could get a _very_ good deal there, but in peacetime shipping down the Vassa would make sense, so it’s in our interest to be sure Frasrlund has nice big icelights for, oh, harbour and causeway and wherever they might do good.”

            “I’ll think on that, surely.” Ennor smiled but his look was sharp. “You’re bidding fair to be a good neighbour, then?”

            “Certainly, and it’s not just New Hope, Ennor. Var’istaan, St’aara, Amiir’aan and the other basilisks were wandering round Tortall for a decade being rejected by scared villagers or stoneworkers who feared for their livelihoods. How much could they have done if we’d recruited them? I don’t think anything would have been possible with stormwings before, but what would you give for a seawatch twenty miles out?”

            “Now there’s a thought. And I’ll say, Keladry, I like what I hear. I didn’t doubt Alanna or Vanget, nor Brodhelm, but it’s good to know oneself. You have my support with Runnerspring—what he thinks he’s doing I can’t imagine. Tell me, if you will—you’ll apply for the fief now?”

            “When the time comes, but I still think that’s in peace.”

            “Fair enough, though I’m not sure I agree. Whenever it comes, it’ll be good for us, and I find I actually look forward to trying to sort out this border. You’re bringing new things to the mix. Still, from the looks of young Tobeis and Irnai I should let you get them to bed.”

            Kel gratefully found hers too. The tides meant leaving very early or so late the next wayhouse would be out of range, so they took a day in Frasrlund. Despite constant attention she was able to look round city and harbour with the children, enjoying a conversation with Yamani merchants surprised to hear their tongue who recognised them as Sakuyo’s Blessed, and lunching on fresh seacatch. The afternoon was more businesslike, Ennor being sufficiently taken with the icelight to ask her to accompany him to discussions with his harbour and causeway masters. The possibility of lights in any shape or size had to be offset against their working far better at night than on a heavily overcast day but lack of maintenance costs weighed too. Wharfs and warehouses had to be lit, and Kel talked a little of what it would mean to have streets lit at night; Frasrlund was no Corus to warrant its own Rogue but where goods were stored they were pilfered, and some everywhere might seek advantage in darkness to improve their fortunes.

            All in all it was a pleasant, practical day she hoped had begun to put New Hope’s fantastical reputation to mutually beneficial use, and after another evening meal with useful discussion she went to bed satisfied, if missing Dom as much as she’d feared. Ennor would sail for Port Caynn at the end of the month, but Alanna, whom even the idea of a sea-journey could leave green, was heading south with them to Mindelan and would go on to Corus via Blue Harbour. On the coast road drizzle was replaced by squalls, but between them, when not pointing out sea stacks and arches or the way the water’s colours shifted with depth and light, Kel had a running conversation with Alanna. Of Aly the Lioness said only that she was safe, from the sound of it causing other people trouble, and they should wait on George’s report in Corus, but about men and what they said or believed about intimacy she was frank, funny, and alarming. Kel found herself redefining Yuki’s level of detail as quite decorous, and if she learned more than she wanted about the King she was grateful and said so. Alanna looked at her with eyes darker than usual despite the bracing air and coastal light.

            “No offence to your mother, Kel, but I think of you as another daughter. Goddess knows I love Alianne so much it hurts but I’ve never understood her and it’s clear she’s taking after George. But you I understood, and gods messing with you doesn’t change that.” She brooded while Kel absorbed this, marvelling. “I hadn’t realised what a state you’d got into, though, thanks to Cavall’s idiotic obsession with keeping us apart. I should use his proxy to vote for something radical just to serve him right, but that’s by the by. What isn’t is the Hag, and while I’d gladly beat her with her own stick for the way she did it I’m afraid she did have a point about teasing you.”

            Kel let out a sigh. “The thought crossed my mind. But what was I supposed to do? Wyldon would have dismissed me as a page for seeing boys, and Raoul wasn’t wrong to warn me about lovers and commanders.”

            “All true, but people find ways. Older people too, but the young are especially ingenious. Desire’s so fierce when it’s new.”

            “Maybe so, but most people don’t have half Tortall watching them in hope of a mistake. Are any of these girls in training now going to serve in the army? Assuming there’s peace by then the need will be less urgent, but it’s not like there won’t be things for the army to be doing. And while it’s early days I think Fiannola’s got that something. I’d like to get Raoul to take her as a squire.”

            Alanna grinned. “Sorry, he’s booked for Alan. But I agree the army will want Fiannola. The others too, probably. Why?”

            “Because regulations need rewriting. I’ve been protected in odd ways and put in command very early, but suppose I was serving as a junior officer somewhere isolated—where would my protection be ?”

            “Ouch.”

            “You should look at Yamani regulations.”

            “Eh? They don’t have women officers, do they?”

            “No, but they don’t think sex is only between men and women.”

            “Heh. I shouldn’t argue _that_ with the army council, which is where this should go. What do the Yamanis say, then?”

            “Intimacy’s forbidden in the chain of command but not outside it and when permissible subject to relevant civil codes.”

            “Makes sense. Nice and clear, too.” Alanna grinned. “And if we did have such a regulation, Kel, would it happen you’d be in breach of it?”

            “It would, which is one reason I’d appreciate as much silence as you can manage.” Alanna stuck out her tongue and Kel laughed. “I know, but  I’ve no wish either to have to lie or to give Runnerspring any truths to hurl for a change. And on the basis of existing regulations you could argue that if my lover was a civilian at New Hope I’d be in breach of duty too, which would leave me a choice of immortals. I suppose some of the stormwings clean up quite nicely.”

            “Kel!” For once she’d managed to scandalise Alanna; there was a liberation in conversations on the road. “That’s … really not a thought I want to pursue.”

            “Fair enough, but do you remember that herdmaster Greystreak? Oily hair in ringlets, fair-skinned, blue roan, and a horrid attitude.”

            “Oh yes. What about him?”

            “First time he met me he couldn’t stop staring at my hips. Said I’d birth his kind easily and offered Raoul three horses for me.”

            “The cursed cheek! I hope Raoul taught him some manners.”

            “Peachblossom and Drum did.”

            Alanna cackled. “Oh right—I remember that story now. Mmm. If we’re going to have more contact with immortals we will have to think about that. It’ll give Turomot something to chew on when he’s stopped spluttering. Gods.” She shook her head. “I do hear what you’re saying about the road you’ve had to walk, Kel, that you’re still walking, and I’m sorry for it. But I’m gladder you’ve won through, with the Goddess’s help.” She gave a salacious grin. “Does he know how blessed he is?”

            Kel shook her head. “Sometimes you think just like a man.”

            “I know. Just ask my poor Bazhir.”

            That story carried them to the wayhouse, and an early start next day brought them inland round low hills, bypassing Seabeth-and-Seajen, to the upper Domin by late afternoon. The weather had improved and before they crossed into the fief Kel had Tobe put on a Mindelan tunic.

            “It saves people having to ask, Tobe.” He nodded and Kel ruffled his hair. “It’ll be fine.”

            She had butterflies herself, and was wearing a Mindelan tunic of her own as well as hanging her shield with her device visible. Besides her brief stay during the Progress she’d hardly been home in a decade, and didn’t much resemble her siblings; the thought of people there being like those at Frasrlund, gaping wonder, induced a hollow feeling, but it would be her first return since passing her Ordeal, once a dream beyond an all-consuming goal. Alanna gave her space but as the landscape became familiar Kel roused herself to tell the children—and avidly listening escort—about what they were seeing. The people they began to pass stared and offered bows or curtseys to which Kel returned waves with growing tension in her gut, but the gateguards were evidently pleased their most famous daughter had returned at last. The flag above the gatehouse showing her parents were in residence sported the same golden border as her own but the shield above the gates had yet to be changed, and she nudged Tobe; that was one Midwinter gift solved, even if it might have to be a promissory note on the day. When they came to the wide street leading from gatehouse to keep and the family house beside it word had spread with its usual uncanny speed, and the way was lined with curious faces. A small part of Kel was mortified but a greater part acknowledged their right, which she hadn’t felt of the crowds in Corus, and when she saw people she recognised, a chandler who sold all sorts of things that had intrigued her as a ten-year-old standing with his family in his shop doorway, she dismounted with Tobe and Irnai to introduce them and promise a proper visit. They were delighted, and the crowd amused, when Alder put his  
head over Tobe’s shoulder to whuffle at the scents of rope and tar; they also noticed the boy’s ease with a warhorse it wouldn’t do to argue with, and when Kel named Irnai, making sure her voice carried, there was a little gust of sound. Kel gave Irnai’s shoulder an apologetic squeeze but the seer was untroubled, smiling happily at the chandler and looking about with interest.

            Her family was waiting, doors flung wide to spill light, with beaming smiles—or in the cases of her younger nieces and nephews solemn and curious stares. Ostlers led the escort away and, with a word of warning from Kel, Alder, and she turned to face her family, gathering the children. Her father had never been one for public speaking but had to welcome Alanna as King’s Champion and added one to Tobe on his first visit, which the crowd applauded; courtesy led him to offer Irnai one, and there was more applause and shouts of ‘Blessed’. But while he might cordially dislike addressing crowds her father—the Duke, Kel thought, watching him—understood politics and knew his people, so he squared his shoulders and looked at her with what she realised was a mix of apology and pride with much more swirling beneath.

            “Keladry, my dear, what can I say? We always expected you to return as a Lady Knight but you come as so much more—Commander of New Hope, of which all speak; Protector of the Small, to mortals and immortals alike; King’s Councillor alongside me ere you are half my age, and the youngest in memory; Blessed of Lord Sakuyo, and of the Black God and Goddess beyond dreaming. You make us very proud.”

            To Kel’s shock he gave her a bow, with everyone following, before enfolding her in his familiar hug. She didn’t know if she was more horrified or thunderstricken, but thought getting herself inside out of sight as soon as possible was the best idea; behind her she could hear the crowd dip too, and forced herself to smile and wave before shepherding parents and children alike towards the door, smiling still as best she could at nephews and nieces. Inside there was a gauntlet of servants, whose welcomes could not be ignored, and by the time she made it through with Tobe and Irnai her emotions were tamped down—barely—and her headache vicious. It was fortunate Alanna was there, weather eye as sharp as her mother’s, and helped Kel gain the bedroom assigned her—not one she’d ever used—before taking the children to their own and leaving her blessedly alone. A racking burst of sobs eased her head a little, though what they mourned she couldn’t have said, and Alanna, slipping back in already dressed in soft breeches and shirt, banished the pain with a trickle of purple fire.

            “You’re going to want to wash your face, Kel, as well as changing.”

            “Oh, yes, alright. I’m so—”

            “Hush. Don’t be silly. Piers didn’t have a choice and gods know every word was true, but that would jangle anyone’s nerves.”

            She held together, buoyed by the absence of pain and simple curiosity of the younger children. Vorinna and Tilaine were unsure what to make of her, Anders and Inness glad to see her, as she to see them, and when Inness’s five-year-old tugged her sleeve and asked with some scepticism if she’d really had a snowfight with a dragon she drew him onto her lap and told him yes, she really had, with two dragons, and the smaller had won. Tobe and Irnai—objects of children’s curiosity as well as the discreet regard of adults—could vouch for it, and had ridden the larger dragon. Until the children were collectively swept away to bed by their mothers, taking Tobe and Irnai for storytelling purposes, dragons and other immortals were very much the topic, and there was prosaic calm in insisting on basilisks, ogres, even stormwings as people; Junior remained a menace but having had to duck a griffin recklessly showing off flying skills emphasised how different Amiir’aan and Amourta were. When the adults were alone Inness grinned at her.

            “You must be sick of people saying so, Kel, but it does all sound like a fairy tale.”

            She summoned energy to stick out her tongue. “I suppose it does, Inness, but it’s a fairy tale you can visit. And you wait until I can have a word with your spidrens—Quenuresh says there’s some who’ll come and listen at least—so you might find it’s even closer than you think.”

            “Gods, yes. I’m not looking forward to that.”

            “I don’t blame you. Spidrens take some getting used to.”

            “Quenuresh certainly does.” Her father shuddered gently. “Not an easy diplomatic assignment, but I’m glad the ones here will talk. We haven’t had trouble with them for months—they’re keeping themselves to the deeper woods, and I’m hoping it’s deliberate restraint.” A smile drifted onto his face. “We’ve laid in extra cheese.”

            “It’s a good start.” She hesitated. “I want to go with Tobe to Conal’s grave in the morning, but I could try the spidrens in the afternoon. Quenuresh’s given me a bit of web she says will summon the one she’s heard from, but I don’t know how long it might take.”

            “Then the day after would be better, my dear. And we’ll all keep you company in the morning—unless you’d rather we didn’t.”

            “As you will, Papa. I’ve told you all I know. I just want to pay my last respects to him, and thank the Black God again with Tobe.”

            “Of course. I’ve told the family about Tobe’s forgiveness and the dream you shared, so it doesn’t need repeating.”

            The talk went on for a while, and after Alanna and her parents had retired Kel found herself staying later than she wanted with Anders and Inness, giving them an incomplete but frank account of her dealings with the Black God. It was easier with emotions blunted from tears and Alanna’s healing, and the slightly thick head that followed; she hadn’t felt she owed an account to Adie or Orie, let alone Conal, but her elder brothers were another matter. Perhaps it was their knowledge of combat, or tolerance of her chivalric ambitions; they heard differently, appreciating as others had not, even her parents, what she tried to say about the sadness of the god’s eyes. They also reacted distinctly to her effective status as a priest, amused in a way she could appreciate and thoughtful in a way that surprised her about things she might share with Avinar and their father’s quiet piety. And there was an instinctive reaction of fraternal comfort, always missing in Conal, that soothed her as she hugged them goodnight and made her way to an unfamiliar bed.

 

* * * * *

 

Kel woke as usual before dawn, and if the household was surprised to find her and Tobe well exercised by breakfast no-one said anything. The visit to Conal’s grave was simple, peaceful, and purely mortal; the Black God had vouchsafed his promise and you didn’t need to ask twice. The act of respect mattered to Kel but she thought the visit more important to Tobe, and Anders and Inness, who had watched their brother die. The swathe of new graves was shocking but with the mild weather greenery had spread over turned earth. Other bereaved families were tending their dead, and for all the grief in the air Kel thought the Black God’s benison shared; the losses, however cruel, seemed mourned rather than resented. She was aware of responsibility for the attack but past claiming guilts she didn’t have to shoulder.

            Alanna came in courtesy but left afterward, promising to see Kel in Corus, and she spent the day wandering with the children. After the harbour and basic layout, and delivering letters from Heliana to startled friends, came time in the chandler’s, where she ordered bolts of stout canvas for New Hope and hanks of larger rope than the army had; they also acquired a spyglass Tobe coveted and from a bookseller who catered to her father’s tastes Yamani books for him and Yuki, and a book of travels taller than true that enchanted Irnai. They met Vorinna and Tilaine for lunch at an inn on the main square, and despite public scrutiny Kel thought it an hour well spent: it was her sisters-in-law’ territory and gave her a chance to answer questions they were willing to ask. They adored her brothers and their children, and as anxiety about her and Tobe eased their essential goodwill came to the fore.

            The trip next day to the forest east of the Domin was much more nerve-racking, but Kel was comforted by Irnai’s insistence on coming, despite her brothers’ protests. The male spidren who emerged only half-an-hour after she’d held aloft the fragment of webbing was smaller than Aldoven or any of Quenuresh’s kin save the babies. He was called Vorgitarl, wasn’t a mage but what Kel decided must be the spidren equivalent of a hedgewitch, and he and his kin had indeed been practicing restraint, in desperation, but the woods, hunted by mortals as well as the People, could not support them for much longer.

            The trust Kel offered in leaving their escort at a distance mattered, as did her father and brothers being there, but not as much as her presence with Irnai, unarmed, and she saw amazement in Anders’s and Inness’s faces when the spidren addressed her as Protector. It was there again when she described how treaties with Quenuresh and Aldoven worked and insisted it be sworn in Mindelan, witnessed by all.

            “It’s hard, but as experience of mortal anger and pursuit governs your fears, experience of immortal predation and hostility governs ours, and mutual experience of safe speech will govern acceptance. And as we offer trust, providing food now and inviting you among us, so you must offer trust and come.” She smiled, ignoring bristles she still wished the immortals were without. “I would ask you establish trade as soon as may be. Old webbing for cheese, at least—seawinds blow cold enough that insulation will be welcome—and I don’t know if webbing can be used for fishing-nets, but that would be good. Or with keep and curtain walls to maintain there’s always a use for beings who climb them as we’d cross a floor. Come an hour after dawn to the bluffs above the Domin, nearest the city gate. I once met another spidren there, with less happy results, but I will gladly meet you and your kin there and escort you to the city.”

            Vorgitarl nodded with a sigh. “We will be there. Quenuresh is right—we must learn to live with mortals. It is new in these realms but the timeway turns and we must turn with it or fall from it.”

            She considered him gravely. “That is so. Even stormwings and dragons agree. And between us we can help it turn for the better. Will you ask your kin to stand clear of the eaves a moment that we may see them? And meet the guards who will help me tomorrow?”

            She waved the escort forward and as a score of spidrens minced clear of the treeline, anxiety on their faces, she named the sweating men who spoke to Vorgitarl and were spoken to, each kind tense but drawing on Kel’s and Irnai’s calm. When it was done and the spidrens had withdrawn Kel fixed the men with gaze and voice.

            “As with any former enemy, it’s not easy and takes time. I don’t know Vorgitarl and can’t promise he’ll keep his word. But I think he is sincere and I _know_ other spidrens sworn to treaty have kept their words, in spirit and letter. They are old beings—the least of those we saw has lived for _centuries_ —and do not give oath lightly. So the question is easy—do you want your children and grandchildren, if you’re lucky, to grow up wary of making a spidren meal whenever they go wooding, or a world where spidrens help defend them against whatever may come calling?” She let it sink in, thought battling with fear. “I know they repel. I don’t like the teeth and hair either—not one bit. But if you can get past that, well, every one of you has now spoken civilly to a spidren, close enough to touch, and you’re alive to tell the tale.” She glanced at Anders and Inness. “Which with my brothers’ permission is what I want you all to spend the rest of today doing. People are fearful, and some will say things born of fear or have scores they’ll say should be settled with every spidren. All I ask is you tell them the truth of what you’ve seen and done today, and ask them the same question I asked you.”

            Kin and escort alike were silent on the way back, and when they were back in the house her father embraced her, called her ‘my dear’ in a voice that melted her heart, and left her with Anders and Inness. She helped them disarm, not having bothered with armour herself beyond her jerkin, and made tea as they sat heavily in chairs around a welcome fire, Anders rubbing his leg and Inness his recently healed wounds. When she sat herself he looked up with an odd smile.

            “Little sister, that was as brave as anything I’ve ever seen.”

            She met his gaze as her blush faded. “Not really, Inness. The first time with Quenuresh, who’s three times Vorgitarl’s size, took some doing. But I wasn’t expecting trouble today, and I’ve learned to read them a little. There was no threat.”

            He blew out a breath. “If you say so. My compliments all the same.”

            “Mine too, but not quite for the same reason.” Anders glanced at Inness. “You weren’t here, but I remember the day Kel met a spidren on the Domin—it was when you decided to accept Cavall’s offer of probation, wasn’t it? After saving those kittens.”

            Kel nodded. “Except I didn’t save all the kittens. It killed two of them before my eyes. I swore I wouldn’t be letting that happen again.”

            “It was the spidren she went after with stones and bare hands, Inness. At ten. And it wasn’t any smaller than Vorgitarl, besides a whole lot meaner. But you know, Kel, I thought you’d been crazy brave, and I told you so. You heard me too, I remember. But today—that wasn’t crazy at all. You say you weren’t scared but I saw you holding it down, and what you did with the men … well, I wanted to say I begin to understand why men follow you. Why people do.”

            “Oh yes.” Inness nodded. “That was command, civil and military together.” He lifted his teacup to her. “Lady Knight.”

            Moved, Kel found she felt like talking but not about spidrens, and bearded them by turning to the fact that the elemental forbade no-one from talking about Ordeals, and telling Anders she’d be making sure Lachran knew it. Astonishing them all over again was satisfying and though she didn’t report all she knew she did mention the revived traditions beyond Ordeals, and additional forms of testing in the wake of Joren’s and Vinson’s failures. His death still wasn’t public knowledge and women’s vulnerability wasn’t a subject she wanted to dwell on, but the prospect of excluding men like the Torhelms from knighthood was welcome to all and the politics that might spin from it caught Anders’s imagination. Kel had realised that though her oldest brother had always known he would inherit a barony he was struggling with the notion of inheriting a duchy and Lachran’s changed expectations. She half-wondered if he wanted her to take his son as a squire, but discovered he’d already had discussions with Imrah, under whose command he’d been fighting when injured, and who hadn’t taken a squire since Roald.

            “I went to Legann briefly, Kel, by sea, to confirm arrangements over New Hope trade, and we caught up. I think Lord Imrah genuinely likes the look of Lachran, but he had an eye to the consequences of Pa’s elevation so it seemed worth asking and he agreed.”

            Kel nodded happily. She thought she’d like to take a squire one day, but not yet. “Good. Imrah’s a nice man, I’ve found—we had a chat when he got back from Torhelm. That’s when I did the trade deal, presuming on your goodwill.”

            “As if you needed to ask.”

            “Well, it was a liberty all the same. But in the longer run I’m hoping the duties New Hope does pay will make you quite a lot of money for the fief. I’ve been talking to Ennor of Frasrlund too.”

            The conversation rolled to trade and what Mindelan needed and hoped for as a duchy, and continued into dinner with Kel’s parents and the children vouching for basilisk-and-mage architecture. Kel’s simple—to her—contention that the Craftsbeings’ Guild owed Mindelan for the trade deal and, once peace permitted, a Guild work party should come to repay it, met with excited protest that no-one owed anything. A further observation—that if they attracted a basilisk and began to produce mesh for use at sea they would make a fortune and need to set up their own branch of the Guild, bound by the same profit-sharing approach—produced a different burst of conversation, and she grinned at her parents over the babble. They smiled back but without ceasing to look thoughtful and Kel realised even they had not altogether put together what she hoped the Guild might become.

            The lesson was spectacularly driven home next morning, when, with a manifestly unconcerned Tobe and Irnai as well as the sweating escort, she ushered the spidrens to the square. People blanched but looked, and Kel drew on the respect she’d inherited with the wondering admiration she’d earned and willed the crowd to calmness, not allowing occasional gagging or cries to affect the peace she imposed. She read the treaty aloud, strong voice carrying throughout the square and beyond, and witnessed as King’s Councillor and Protector of the Small oaths her father and Vorgitarl swore. A token round of cheese was presented and a bundle of webbing delivered, at Anders’s cunning suggestion, to a popular, notoriously drafty waterfront tavern; that caught fancies but the moment that tipped the crowd was the swift repair, further along the quayside, of a badly torn and urgently needed fishing net.

            “It will not last more than a few months, Protector.” Vorgitarl was factual rather than apologetic. “It is waterproof, but salt will eat at it. Still, if such repairs are of value we are happy to trade our help.”

            The fishermen examining the work stood and shakily bowed thanks, and Kel felt the ripple of acceptance flow through all who saw and heard. Whatever else it did Mindelan fished, and a source of emergency repair at a speed no mortal could match was of tangible value. Even so enough was enough, and with the children Kel walked the spidrens back to the gate, though she left it to the escort to see them to the Domin. It would take time but seeds had sprouted, and walking back she spoke easily to many, cheerfully admitting the strain of spidren conversation, underlining the rewards and duties of mutual good faith, and mentioning trade prospects. Reaching home to collapse by the fire, and being brought tea by an admiring Inness, she called it a good day’s work and rejoiced in general agreement. Her parents told the tale of Bonedancer and Quenuresh, not for the first time but to newly understanding ears, and her account of Lindhall Reed’s chagrin when the flying fossil had landed on the Green Lady to rub its head on her breast brought scandalised squeaks and renewed laughter.

            The rest of the visit was, thankfully, eventless. Kel got to know nieces and nephews she had only met as infants and toddlers during the Progress. Her escort were in effect on leave, and after she’d shown them the city, buying them a drink in the waterfront tavern where webbing was now packed around windows and much discussed, they were happy to go with Tobe and Irnai when they wanted to wander, leaving Kel time with her brothers and parents. She walked walls and harbour defences with Anders and Inness, suggesting things that could be done if a basilisk visited; Laar’aan would be willing, and there were places on the seawalls where obsidian spiking would be of real use, as well as a section of the keep with cracks masons struggled to repair. Her smooth grace in dawn pattern dances attracted an audience, as well as a ghostly wink from her mother, and Anders asked her to drop by the guards’ training and give what advice she could—more a matter of breaking routine with fresh challenges than anything else She left them enthusiasts for slingwork by setting up targets resembling bodies visible over a gunwale, giving one a clay head, and cracking it open at better than fifty yards. Her ability to beat experienced sergeants in staff- and swordplay brought brasher guards up short, and her unusual mix of authority and kindness worked on them as it had at Haven and New Hope. They also sought the company of her escort, who backed her with flat statements of what the empty Greenwoods valley had looked like when they first saw it and what was there now, of raids and funerals afterward, of Scything Wheat and Rogal’s execution. In consequence the guards took to calling her Lady Kel, but among the townsfolk she had to endure ‘Protector’, thanks to Vorgitarl, and in any longer conversation found herself insisting on Lady Kel, with limited success.

            Her parents commiserated with her frustration but also had a long conversation with her about status, power, and the authority of names. There wasn’t much she hadn’t begun to realise for herself, but as with reading Orchan of Eridui trained clarity helped organise in her head one mind and body with multiple identities. She was used to the phenomenon in rulers, from the differing levels of protocol the Yamani emperor required or could dispense with, and had seen it in Alanna, Daine and Numair, Cricket, even Yuki when she gained formal Queenscove rank; but while she lived it of necessity, she hadn’t been able to think it through. Nights with Dom in the world their bed became had changed something—another side benefit to thank the Goddess for, she decided, wondering whether to tell Alanna. With her innermost self engaged with another’s—her new knowledge of who she was naked, of wholeness and completion—her radiating rings of public authority became clearer: Knight, Commander, Protector, Councillor. Here in Mindelan her status as duke’s daughter was a variant of commander, and if she was ennobled in her own right to rule New Hope that would be another. Whatever their complications, gods were only another context to which every identity owed thanks and courtesy, and the immortals only other pieces on their chessboard with their own rings of identity and power to tend as they walked the timeway. The chaotic buzz of worry about the future, fears for those she loved and guarded, didn’t go away, but like massing known and unknown threats to New Hope were kept at bay by the glacis and palisades of the duties she owed herself and those over whom she stood in authority, in whatever capacity. As clarity sank in the ease of her body rose into her mind, and she slept dreamlessly though her own hands were a poor substitute for Dom’s.

            It was pleasant but only an interlude, and the weather, still unseasonably mild, was growing cooler as days shortened and sunshine thinned. A storm leaving everything harbour-bound for a week could blow up any time, and prevailing westerlies meant a lot of tacking before a ship heading south could clear the great cape sheltering Blue Harbour and run south-west for Port Caynn. After discussions with her father about Runnerspring’s complaint her restlessness grew; it was a sideshow and she wanted it done, to get through this strange, slight winter to the spring that must surely end dragging inaction. The children too, though relaxed, were eager for the bustle of Corus, and when they took ship the only one who objected was Alder, whose opinions of the sea Tobe said were much like Alanna’s, if horsier. But his intelligence worked against him and when Tobe stared, hands on hips, from the top of the gangplank, he reluctantly made his way on board, snorting.

            As the ship worked out of the harbour Kel sat with the children in her arms, explaining what was happening as sailors rushed about, hauling and trimming, stowing anchor and cable, and setting a bewildering variety of sails. She didn’t look back, but wondered how long it might be before she saw Mindelan again.


	22. Authority

**Chapter Twenty-Two — Authority**

_1–18 December_

 

They arrived ten days before festivities opened with the Council session and Queen’s Ball. Kel had a long agenda, some of which she suspected was needless—on the political side meetings with other Councillors already present, including Padraig and Duke Gareth; on the military, meetings Alanna arranged with members of the Army Council to float suggestions, from testing recruits for skill with the sling to the putative regulations to protect female officers; and chief among personal business, meetings with Lalasa and Tomas, in a quiet frenzy of preparation for their wedding on the third day of festivities. Kel’s notes had had the desired effect, and Thayet and Shinko had more-or-less extorted invitations. Lalasa alternated between thrilled astonishment and indignant trepidation but Kel was unrepentant. Amid it all she was mindful: she and the children always wore their jerkins, and while Tobe and Irnai might go about the Palace as they would, visiting Daine, Numair, Kawit, and other friends, if they wanted to go to her parents’, the Temple District, or lower city they went with men of her escort. She had locks of hair to track them if necessary, and Numair respelled their rooms and checked the bracelets.

            Most of her political meetings were dull, serving only to underline that no-one understood what Runnerspring wanted. There was humming and hawing about noble courtesies but no doubt about legalities or that the oddity of Rogal’s presence called for explanation. Even Macayhill, to whom she gave an account of events with Vorgitarl, was unsympathetic to Runnerspring, and if he couldn’t approve her acting as executioner agreed someone had had to. At their request she took Tobe and Irnai to her meeting with Duke Gareth, ostensibly in case they might again be summoned, a possibility he dryly denied, but really to see his bearskin. They found themselves as loath to step on it as Numair said Gareth was, and she saw him suppress a smile as they made their way round its edge, the children’s eyes wide and her own not far behind at the sheer size of the thing; the meeting was better tempered than the last and he called her Lady Keladry rather than Lady Knight, but his puzzlement about Runnerspring seemed as great as anyone’s.

            “As far as I can tell he just wants his complaint official. He knows he has no support. It’s a waste of time but he has the right to table business, however foolishly.”

            “And there’s no chance he has another surprise complainant?”

            “One would think he’d have learned better from what happened with Tirrsmont, Lady Keladry. I certainly wouldn’t care to try to surprise you. But no, not that I can discover, and he’d need to give notice to His Majesty. Much more interesting, frankly, is these icelights you’ve started making and the city business arising from that.”

            They discussed those, but with her main business done she made excuses, released the children to find Kitten, and went to a longer, more productive meeting with Turomot. Faced with her careful questions about the Guild he called a senior assistant whom she spent a cheerful hour tripping on his assumptions, to Turomot’s increasingly thoughtful approval, and when she turned to wider issues of immortals’ rights and duties under treaty a different assistant whose dry legality was very helpful even if his eyebrows were in his hair long before she was done. After that she spoke about Rogal, and Turomot tested her grasp of the laws and precedents involved before huffing satisfaction.

            “It’s an unusual case, my Lady, and if he’d identified himself as Runnerspring’s man from the outset, claiming extended noble privilege, I hate to think what kind of a mess we might be in between the demands of his putative master, the Army Council, and my Lord of Hollyrose.” He sniffed eloquently. “I was doubtful when I heard what had happened, but your reports are clear and your reasoning sound. You might be interested to know one of my clerks found references to griffin-tested evidence in courts of the Thanic Empire, and Tortallan courts before the Human Era, so even that oddity has precedent.”

            Kel was interested, and Turomot taken by her connection of the army’s need for griffin feathers and the griffins’ conviction it was right to attend courts. In an odd way she thought he’d have been outraged at the idea of talking immortals interfering with procedure, but there was something in the nobility of griffins and silent enforcement of truth-telling without regard for rank that appealed. The issue led to truthspells and the change in loyalty oaths he was still considering; whether anything she could say would make legal wheels turn faster she doubted, but pitched her arguments for whatever they might be worth. His hands were heavily spotted and he was beginning to bend with age but he remained upright in duty, and she felt the admiration for him that had come to her on the night of her Ordeal, when he stayed in the freezing Chapel to guard against interference. They would never be friends in the way she’d found with other conservatives from Wyldon to Ennor, let alone share the camaraderie of Raoul, Alanna, and men like Imrah and Terres, but they parted on warmer terms than they’d met.

            With Palace business concluded Kel gave a glaive class, pushing the best pages with new pattern dances. She spent a day with the children in the lower city, taking care of gifts and dropping by to see the bride. With her wedding dress and her groom’s fine outfit complete Lalasa was less frantic, but there was much to do—weddings seemed to proliferate detail like weeds; even the army couldn’t do better—and the arguments she and Kel might have had about who was paying for what had been settled in letters. Kel had made a point of not ordering work for herself or the children, and had her Mindelan kimonos for the wedding, but as Tobe and Irnai had grown Lalasa remeasured them against orders to be filled in the spring and sent north with Barin’s next wagon train. Kel detained her friend sufficiently to give an account of the Lord Badger’s appearance, producing exclamations, but besides the deaths of Merric and Rogal, hardly subjects to raise with an imminent bride, her year had been less eventful than the last. Lalasa had more to tell about the Protector’s Maids but no time to do so, and Kel stopped her babble of worry by promising to make a round of the shops herself.

            That took her and the children much of the next day, the last before the Council, and she ended it pleased on several accounts. All the shops were doing well, three more had opened, and several were employing women who had the necessary skills but not the ambition or more abstract talents to run a business. She placed orders where she could, for herself and New Hope, had conversations about problems there had—and in some ways more tellingly hadn’t—been, and was introduced to their children and elder kin helping out in the busy Midwinter season. These were lifelong lower-city folk, with tightknit families and lives her own had never begun to resemble; but Tobe had known as bad, Irnai worse, and all refugees at New Hope a degree of personal disaster and loss next to which Mutt Piddle Lane might count itself secure. Just as importantly Kel’s attitudes, though by now melded with exercise of authority, were infused with responsibilities of rank, not its privileges, and though she didn’t understand how it worked from their point of view they talked to her, freely so far as she could tell, and it added up to growing mutual respect that boded well.

            When she saw the goldsmith and discovered just how much the Maids’ tithes had collectively amounted to she wanted to march out with bags of golden nobles and give them back, but contented herself with directing him to return a quarter of the most recent deposits by way of a Midwinter bonus. His tut-tutting at such generosity made her ensure no extra commission was taken from returned monies, but she mollified him by discussing the Guild’s need for financial representation in Corus. He agreed to consult Master Orman as fast as any banker ever moved, and she left him with good cheer restored, intending to visit Master Randall to tell him how his barding had performed, only to be greeted on Palace Way with an enthusiastic shout by a muddy Owen, just arrived from the north. After a bearhug she offered congratulations on his hard-won permission to court, which made him beam.

             “You’re cutting it very fine, Owen.”

            “I didn’t mean to, Kel, but with no real end to the fighting season General Vanget didn’t want anyone leaving before they had to. A lot of people are staying, you know. I would myself if it weren’t for Iden’s and Warric’s Ordeals. Couldn’t miss those.”

            Kel promised she wouldn’t miss those dawns and walked up Palace Way hearing his account of an educational year.

            “I expect it’s old hat to you, Kel, but even after seeing all my Lord does as District Commander I’d no idea how much more General Vanget has to do, nor what it would be like to work so closely with a regular company. The inaction’s been horrid, though it doesn’t seem right to wish for raids when they hurt so many people, but sitting on the other side of the desk and making decisions myself, well, it’s taught me a lot.” He brightened. “My Lord agrees. The General let me use the spellmirror to speak to him as I couldn’t go via Mastiff, and he said he hoped I could be broken to bridle in a few years. It was the best compliment.”

            Kel could hear Wyldon saying it and resolved to tease him when she could—but didn’t disagree. Owen did need tempering, and responsibility for others with all its logistics and paperwork was no bad thing, but he was a fine man, not as uncomplicated as he could seem but direct and open, a wellspring of good cheer. She could see people looking at her and grinning as they heard his artless enthusiasm. By the time they reached the Palace Tobe and Irnai were astride Happy Two, and in payment took him to rub down while Owen trudged off to make himself presentable for his father. Kel had a nice talk with Stefan Groomsman, finding him interested in news of Alder’s barding and unexpectedly well-informed about events at New Hope—the result, she decided, of conversations with Daine. It might have been casual talk—they dealt together over injured horses and the ponies brought from Galla each year for the Queen’s Riders, and he asked after Peachblossom—but Kel thought it Daine’s subtle promotion of living with immortals, particularly stormwings. She spoke of Amourta and the Stone Tree Nation’s collective ability, when it chose, _not_ to terrify and be reasonably clean.

            Walking back Kel was possessed by a feeling of absurdity, arising, she worked out, from the sheer disjunction of what had become her daily normality at New Hope and attitudes only beginning to change in Corus. The capital had always been the hub of Tortall—for all the conservatism that afflicted her page years, the biggest, most various city she’d ever seen, heart of the realm and dwelling of the King; but now seemed behind the pace of change being midwived in the northern war, suspicious of innovation in the way it scornfully ascribed to backwater provinces. Instinctively and by long training a loyalist, she’d learned to think herself a reformer but not before now a radical, let alone a revolutionary; yet that was in part how her Maids and Stefan saw her, and it struck a chord with something she’d seen in the eyes of Uinse and his lads, in Reben Carpenter and other men of New Hope Second. When she tried to explain what was preoccupying her Tobe just smiled.

            “Of course you make everyone change, Ma. You changed everything for me, and Irnai, and everyone at New Hope. Why shouldn’t you change everything here too, if that’s what’s needed?”

            She had no answer that didn’t sound like adult nonsense but after she’d helped them to bed and climbed into her own she lay awake a long time, reconciling this perspective with her new understanding of herself and her various responsibilities. Some things fitted nicely, like the Craftsbeings’ Guild and the effect it and the Protector’s Maids would have on the attitudes of men like the goldsmith—not a bad man, nor lazy, but as rigidly conservative in his own field as ever Stone Mountain had been, and without realising it nearly as contemptuous of those he thought beneath him. Changed feelings towards immortals who’d always been enemies, or reviled as stormwings were, were fine by her, and she’d always known _that_ meant a revolution in attitudes that could only be led by very different experiences. But there were things that didn’t fit easily, or at all, and as she tried to line them up in her mind she realised they centred on the north—the poorer, colder, wilder half of Tortall where what were by Corus standards poverty and simplicity counted as a good, hard-working life, and where Scanra with its recurrent instability loomed along a thousand-mile border. Her last image, carried into dreams, was of a Scanran—like Stanar but actually Freja Haraldsdottir’s son—standing astride the Vassa, as Lord Gainel was shown standing with one foot in order and the other in chaos, holding out a sword and a stone as if she were supposed to choose between them.

 

* * * * *

 

Kel found taking her seat on the Council deeply odd. Her memory of walking in to the room to face them all was sharp, and however much sense it made not to sit beside her father but in Wyldon’s place, flanked by Padraig and Imrah, opposite Runnerspring, she felt disconcerted and nervously made sure her stack of papers hadn’t mysteriously become disorganised. Whether she’d need the records of enquiry or court martial she was unsure, but wouldn’t be found wanting. Stone Mountain, surprisingly, was absent, having been little seen at Court all year, and according to Padraig remained so deeply affected by what he’d learned from the elemental he might be called a changed man; Kel hoped so. Torhelm was gone, of course, though his shadow could be felt; Ennor was between her father and Disart; Daine was absent because Sarralyn was teething, and Numair held her proxy, Harailt beside him. Otherwise attendance and seating were the same, and Runnerspring and Macayhill the only people on their side of the square.

            Lord Carolan’s scowl and shimmering tenseness were not good signs, and Kel’s heart sank as the meeting got under way with the King’s review of Tortall’s neighbours, omitting only Scanra, and some Port Legann issues to which Imrah spoke. Runnerspring’s tension seemed to her that of nervousness concealed; it took her a while to identify because she was more used to seeing it coupled with bravado, in soldiers before combat, but once she put a name to it she became increasingly sure she was right and couldn’t work out what he could be nervous about. At last they came to the heading _Complaint_ on the agenda.

            “Lord Carolan, you registered the complaint. Will you speak to it?”

            “Is there any point?” Runnerspring’s voice was nasal, another sign of tension. “You are aware of my concerns, sire, and seem to care nothing for noble privilege. Rogal was my man and any punishment mine to enforce, or not, as I chose.”

            Seeing Alanna draw indignant breath Kel held up a hand. “Sire, as Lord Carolan’s complaint concerns me, may I address it?”

            “Please do, Lady Keladry.”

            “Lord Carolan, let me first say I regret the entire business, but I must insist that includes Sir Merric as well as Captain Rogal. Any determination here must consider more than one set of privileges. You have lost a liegeman, my Lord and Lady of Hollyrose a son, the army a captain, and the realm a knight. And if you have had to deal with Captain Rogal’s kin, I have had to deal with Sir Merric’s.”

            Reluctantly he nodded. “I concede that.”

            “Thank you. May I ask if your complaint concerns only noble privilege? Put another way, my Lord, given the records of the enquiry that led me to prefer capital charges and the court martial that passed sentence, do you accept Captain Rogal’s execution was _legal?_ ”

            He didn’t like that either but again nodded. “Yes. It is privilege not law that is at issue.”

            “Thank you again. That does mean, however, that Captain Rogal’s punishment was _not_ yours to enforce or set aside. I concede I did _not_ observe usual courtesies. I regret it, but submit, first, that as things stood you could only request Captain Rogal’s pardon, and I knew I would refuse for the same reasons I would not pardon him, nor my Lord of Cavall, General Vanget, or His Majesty; and second, that neither time nor circumstance allowed me leisure to defer sentence for the months it would have taken to go through empty ritual. In peacetime I might have done. In wartime, with three companies to cover patrolling, field security, and fixed defences, and having just suffered the most substantial attack this year, I could not spare a squad as prison guards. Nor, frankly, did I want a condemned man pointlessly reprieved for a few months to compromise hard-won morale in a front-line refugee camp. So I abrogated a loop of courtesy and would do so again. I cannot apologise for my actions, but I am prepared to apologise for having infringed the shadow of your privilege.”

            She’d been watching his face carefully, seeing his mouth tighten at ‘the shadow of privilege’, so she was taken aback when, narrowing his eyes, he abruptly nodded a third time.

            “I accept your apology. The matter is closed.” As breaths were released he turned to the King, and through her surprise Kel realised he’d just made it very hard to ask him _why_ Rogal had been at Tirrsmont. “And yet, sire, my larger concern remains. New Hope didn’t exist two years ago and now recurs frequently in our concerns—military and civil. The Lady Knight calls it a front-line refugee camp, which points its absurdity. You call it the best fortification between Northwatch and Frasrlund and say you saw it in the Chamber of the Ordeal. And whatever this folderol about making no decision until we have peace, it’s plain it must become a fief and will go to the Lady Knight—already a second Mindelan seat on this Council.”

            “And your point, my Lord?” The King’s voice was studiously neutral.

            “How are we supposed to make a proper decision about something so strange we’ve never seen?” He turned to Kel, voice high with the effort of speaking courteously. “Perhaps you will tell me, Lady Knight, if you do indeed intend to apply for the grant of New Hope as your fief.”

            She blew out a breath. “If I live to do so, my Lord. I would point out that eight people present have seen New Hope, as well as my Lord of Cavall, and His Majesty in the elemental’s vision.”

            “Even so, Lady Knight.” The vocative wasn’t quite a sneer. “We should not be deciding something so important blindly, nor on _anyone’s_ mere report. Perhaps New Hope is all it’s said to be—I don’t say it isn’t, only that I cannot _know_. Nor can most of us. Do you not agree we should see the place for ourselves, Macayhill? Nond? Disart?” They didn’t disagree. “What about you, Frasrlund? It’s closest to you.”

            Ennor shrugged. “I’m looking forward to seeing it, Runnerspring, but don’t doubt what Vanget, Cavall, and the Lioness tell me. Don’t see why you should either.”

            “I’m not saying I do. Only that we should see.”

            Kel’s gaze met the King’s and he shrugged minutely.

            “Lord Carolan, if you wish to visit—if any member of the Council wishes to visit—you need only let me know when to expect you.”

            “So I should hope. But piecemeal’s no good—I’m saying we should inspect it properly. A potential fief’s supposed to be looked at, isn’t it, Turomot? Not just for defence, either. Where are its boundaries? And can a refugee camp really be a viable fief? There’s a lot of questions.”

            Duke Gareth stirred. “You want the Council to go to New Hope?”

            “I think we should, yes.”

            “When do you propose we do this, my Lord?” The King was neutral.

            “Imbolc session’s for land grants—always has been—and the winter’s so mild we should get it done.”

            Gareth stirred. “Lady Keladry has as yet made no application.”

            “But she will—she says so, as if it was in doubt. It needs to be done. If she was willing to waive a courtesy where Rogal was concerned she can hardly be bothered waiving this, and we should get on with it while opportunity offers.”

            It was stupid but not illogical, the thrust about not waiting on her formal application shrewd, and while Kel was coldly certain Runnerspring had other reasons for wanting the Council at New Hope they would have to involve full-blown treason. And she _couldn’t_ raise that spectre in this way, with only dark speculation to offer. But still …

            “Sire, any member of the Council is welcome, but New Hope _is_ on the front line, and this mild winter allows Maggur as much movement as it allows us. It _cannot_ be sensible for the whole Council to put itself at risk. I believe my Lord of Goldenlake would say so too.”

            “And Cavall and Vanget.” Alanna was trying to keep her voice level, though she looked as suspicious as Kel felt.

            Runnerspring shrugged nervously but stuck to his argument. “Yet you say the place is next to impregnable, Pirate’s Swoop. Either it is or it isn’t, and if it is, what is the problem with an inspection mandated by long tradition and common sense? What, it’s safe enough for the Crown Prince and Princess to visit twice, and you to drop in, Haryse, for nothing more than a nameday, but not for Disart or Blue Harbour or me on much more serious business?”

            “I don’t think that’s the issue, my Lord.” The King was frowning. “But the claim of precedent is right, isn’t it, Your Grace?”

            Turomot nodded, impassive. “As you know, sire, there has not been a new fief for many years, since your father’s time, but Lord Carolan is correct that when Irismere was inscribed in the Book of Copper the Imbolc session of this Council was held there. Without checking I cannot say how any inspection was conducted, nor how old the tradition might be, but it is implicit that the new fief was thereby known in person to all councillors.”

            “You see?” Runnerspring nodded to himself. “Makes good sense.”

            And if other things were equal it would—but with Maggur still in possession of an army, and in the shadow of Genlith’s probable treason, they weren’t. Padraig coughed.

            “I couldn’t go, my Lord. To be absent from my duties in the months before the final examinations for the pages would be derelict.”

            “Fair enough. But Lord haMinch could hold _your_ proxy for once, if he can be bothered to come, and the rest of us could go, yes? Goldenlake, Cavall, and Vanget are already all but there.”

            The King frowned. “Thayet and I could hardly be away together.”

            “Why not, sire? You were for two years during the Progress.”

            “We were not then at war, my Lord.” The King’s voice was dry.

            “We were latterly, sire. When we urged your return to Corus, or Her Majesty’s at least, you said appearances mattered and the Progress went on, for all it turned south. Is this less important?”

            It was a neat skewer but the King shrugged. “Different circumstances, my Lord. If we do as you suggest, Thayet would stay. Roald and Shinko also, I think, and Duke Gareth.”

            “As you will, sire. But you will come with the rest of us?”

            The absence of the other royals and Gareth didn’t seem to bother Runnerspring any more than Padraig’s—it was the King and as many of the rest as possible he seemed to want, including all the major northern lords and commanders, and Kel’s suspicion of treason matured into grim certainty: which gave her no more evidence. She couldn’t see Sir Myles’s face but would bet he wasn’t any happier than she or Alanna, but the others seemed to be weighing only the inconvenience of a winter journey against precedent and were inclined to acquiesce. They’d expected unpleasantness over Rogal, and Runnerspring had been gracious; if he felt touchy about a tradition that ought to be observed, wartime or no, that was only right. Besides, to those who hadn’t actually been fighting, or had no military understanding, the threat seemed distant, and had done since the destruction of the killing devices—the border had been quiet since, and the biggest attack, aimed squarely at New Hope, had resulted in a slaughter.

            Kel felt them tip into acquiescence and saw the King shrug; the Imbolc session would be held at New Hope. Badly distracted, she kept her head down for the rest of the agenda though the issue of whether royal marriages should in principle be sought with any of Galla, Tusaine, and Tyra was interesting, and her father and Sir Myles made points she’d never have thought of. The issue of intercepted food supplies to Scanra came up in relation to assistance Galla had given, but without evidence the King was no more prepared to raise any question of wilful treason than Kel. Imrah, Haryse, and Alanna made scathing remarks about how careless Genlith had been and the probable cost in Tortallan lives, resulting in a discussion that eventually agreed more stringent control of exports in wartime. Kel thought cynically the agreement had more to do with the fact that most fiefs would hardly notice, not being significant exporters, and the terms targeted Genlith neatly, but Imrah, Blue Harbour, her father, and Ennor, who as lords of harbour fiefs would need additional bureaucracy, were all proponents.

            There was also a distinctly uncomfortable but mercifully brief discussion of Torhelm, who after tomorrow might be expected to be able to speak. Without looking at her the King declared Lord Angors would be questioned by Duke Turomot under truthspell, to determine if he had given or known of orders to attempt the assassination of a noble; what happened would depend on his answer but Turomot noted in a deadly dry voice that Sir Guisant, who should have answered a royal summons and been available to lead the fief of which he was heir, was fugitive; that there had been significant fraud against the crown and a slew of issues into which investigations were proceeding; and that even if Torhelm had no knowledge of the assassin he had questions to answer. Kel would have expected Runnerspring to be vociferous in defence of his friend, but with his plan adopted seemed indifferent to other business and once the agenda was done was first to leave.

            Most people stood with him, but Kel had caught some eyes, and in the chatter as councillors headed out made quick requests. A while after they’d broken up a smaller group reassembled—the royals, Baird, Alanna, Imrah, Numair, Harailt, Sir Myles, Terres, her father, and herself. Reseating himself, the King raised eyebrows.

            “There was something you wanted to say privately, Lady Keladry?”

            “Two things now, sire—one about your coming to New Hope, and a separate matter on which I wanted formal advice.”

            “What about me coming to New Hope?”

            “Sire, whatever any of us may suspect, or not, from the point of view of your security and the realm’s the _only_ sensible assumption we can make is that there _will_ be an attack while you are there.”

            “That would mean Lord Carolan was in collusion with Maggur.” The King’s voice was mild, and Kel matched it.

            “Yes, it would.”

            “And would have to contact him. Sir Myles is watching closely.”

            The old man sighed. “I am, sire—but as I’ve told you, while I doubt he could get a pigeon through, I can’t watch for contact by magefire made outside the Palace. If Runnerspring is so minded word of this _could_ get to Hamrkeng within a few days, and me none the wiser.”

            Kel waved away uncertainty. “The point, sire, is that if there’s no treason, and this is just a traditionalist bee in Runnerspring’s bonnet, no harm done. But if he _is_ colluding with Scanra, and Maggur _does_ learn that you and a host of targets are going to be within twenty miles of the Vassa in a fort with less than four hundred soldiers, only two hundred of them regulars, against which he might throw a force of thousands …”

            “It is a very tenuous speculation, Lady Keladry.”

            Why did Thayet and Roald have nothing to say? “The results wouldn’t be tenuous, sire. And I’ll swear Runnerspring _relaxed_ once he secured agreement. He was nervous as a cat before, but after you said yes, we’ll come to New Hope, he didn’t care what happened. He accepts my apology? I didn’t make one. We never got to ask what Rogal was doing at Tirrsmont. And not a peep about Torhelm subjected to truthspell?”

            “Yes, I noticed all that.” Alanna was troubled. “I don’t like it, Jon, and Kel’s right about what we _have_ to assume.”

            “Then let’s assume it. Genlith, Runnerspring and maybe others do want to use Maggur to oust me. He does or will know we’ll be there. And he sends his army. Don’t we _want_ him to stick his neck out?”

            “Only if we can cut his head off.”

            “Which if New Hope holds for two or three days—and I’m willing to bet it can hold a lot longer than that—Vanget can do.”

            Kel shook her head. “Maggur could have ten thousand men, depending on how many conscripts he can raise. Not less than seven or eight, and we need to be pessimistic. He could send a thousand men against each of Steadfast, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Northwatch to tie them down, and another six straight at New Hope. We can make any assault _very_ expensive, but if he’s willing to spend lives he can draw our teeth and we’d be down to not enough defenders.”

            “And your immortals, Lady Keladry. And Numair. And me, with the Dominion Jewel. And five thousand men, from haMinch lands and the eastern borders, who will be heading north and east at the right time.”

            Wheels span in Kel’s head and she stared; so did Alanna and most others, though not Sir Myles, Thayet, Roald, or Shinko.

            “You do think Runnerspring a traitor, then.”

            It wasn’t a question but he nodded. “I strongly suspect it. There are too many straws in the wind. I’m sure Genlith hired his son’s escape, and equally sure he knew where that food was going. Vinson turns up dead at New Hope, and Sir Garvey’s vanished, as well as Sir Guisant and that steward. Others too. Something’s up and I want it exposed fast—not a treason trial a year for gods know how long. And if we can take Maggur at the same time so much the better, though sending him scampering with heavy casualties would probably see him done.”

            Kel’s voice was flat. “So you’re the bait and I’m the sweetener.”

            He winced but didn’t disagree. “More or less. Or you could say your strength at New Hope has built one jaw of the trap.”

            Kel didn’t know what she thought, but though instinct cried out against this whole plan she could see others thinking hard before Numair asked two of the questions crowding her mind.

            “Jon, I’ve been in sieges and I don’t like them at all. If you _did_ have to use the Dominion Jewel you’d have to draw on a lot of energy. It might not mean another famine but it wouldn’t be good.”

            “If I have to use the Jewel, Numair, I will, to end this war.”

            “If you can. Are you figuring the gods into this?”

            Even as he asked it Kel could see the King’s answer coming.

            “They insist something final will happen at New Hope. I’m just co-operating. This war has to end, and as we can’t go after Maggur he has to come after us. So we need to offer him a target.”

            Kel looked at Thayet and Roald, and knew it was pointless to argue: the risk had been agreed, so the King _had_ known what Runnerspring would ask, which meant Sir Myles must know more than he was saying even if nothing could be proven. Duke Gareth too. She might have admired the boldness if it didn’t also mean she and New Hope were being left out in harm’s way _again_ , in full expectation it would once more come calling. You could see it as a vote of confidence, she supposed. You could also see it as more of the same from a king who still didn’t know what fairness meant and thought risking himself made it acceptable to sacrifice others. From her father’s face his mind was travelling with the same distaste towards the same anger, but before he could protest she squared her shoulders and pinned the King with a gaze far colder than she realised, feeling nothing as she saw him recoil.

            “Very well, sire. You may or may not be playing a fool’s game with all our lives and the realm. We’ll see. You have certainly ignored the one request I made of you last Midwinter, when you last cast me as your goat without warning.” She saw him wince but still felt nothing. “I will of necessity be heading north as soon as I have fulfilled my obligations here and New Hope will be ready. What happens must wait upon the gods, whose priorities are _not_ the same as yours or mine, and even they hesitate to try to nudge the timeway you propose to coerce.” Her tone had everyone looking uncomfortable. So they should. “The matter on which I wanted advice is different. You recognised me as Protector of the Small. What rights, duties, and privileges does this confer? And does the Protector have the right openly to visit the Rogue of Corus?”

            She saw surprise on everyone’s faces except Alanna’s and her father’s, and the King’s reply was very cautious.

            “Um, why should the Protector want to do that, Lady Keladry?”

            “The Protector has a dozen Maids running shops in Corus entwined with the women’s self-defence classes he supports. As a representative of the Craftsbeings’ Guild she has icelights to offer the Wardsmen of the Lower City, a matter of concern to him. At New Hope two of her four companies consist of men among whom he has wide acquaintance. And in two days’ time she’s going to be escorting Her Majesty and Her Highness to a reception in Jane Street.”

            “Ah. Yes. Those are … interesting points. Sir Myles has always had responsibility for this sort of thing. Or rather, his deputy has.”

            Sir Myles smiled cheerfully. “I have no objection to the Protector meeting the Rogue. Her concerns are valid, courtesy pays dividends, and I will be interested in what she has to report. So will my deputy.”

            “Ah.”

            Alanna grinned sourly and clapped Kel on the shoulder. “That’s the best yes you’ll get, Kel. Time for us to talk to George. And she’s got a point, Jon—if you’re going to sling titles about you should think through what they mean. I told you that a year ago and you’ve done nothing. She also has a very good point about goats and this Lioness doesn’t much care for it. Abusing the trust of someone every god there is seems to be watching is stupid, however you persuaded yourself it was a good idea, but I’ll shout at you in private. And about cutting me out of what has to have been an army decision, even if I was on the road when it was taken.” She shook her head. “You’d best bring several extra healers with you, Baird. Or several dozen. Neal can’t run a siege infirmary alone.”

 

* * * * *

 

The meeting with George provided a seething Kel with a file on the Rogue she wasn’t allowed to take away. Jerrold Tinker had been born in the depths of the lower city, orphaned young, and started work before he’d been Tobe’s age as a drayman’s boy. He’d spent time on crews that cleaned the night-market, hauled himself up as an errand-boy for the previous Rogue, and become one of the man’s rushers, which had worked well for him until it hadn’t. That tale interested Kel because it revolved around a woman, but not a lover—Tinker’s half-sister had refused the advances of a senior rusher sufficiently vigorously to leave him scarred, and the Rogue had decided punishment warranted. Tinker objected, to the Rogue’s displeasure, and what sounded like one ruthless manoeuvre later his views prevailed; he who kills the Rogue becomes the Rogue, so that was that. Quite a few people hadn’t thought him up to the job, but he consolidated authority efficiently, and was so far as the file knew presently unchallenged in Corus and Port Caynn, which (George told her) sometimes had its own Rogue but stronger Rogues of Corus tended to annex. Subsequently the file blandly narrated thieves’ business as usual, traditionally conducted, with a willingness to pass on and sometimes seek out information of interest to the realm; the sole oddity was an unusually harsh policy concerning men who attacked women, limited to overt cases until Lalasa’s classes tipped it into an open rule. At this point the file proliferated with cross-references to Lalasa’s history and mentions of Kel, though the several hands notably became dryly cautious in speculation. Half-amused over her underlying worry and anger Kel quirked eyebrows at George, provoking his rumbling laugh.

            “First time you’ve seen such a file? Won’t be the last, I warrant, and a surprising’ number of ’em seem to have your name in these days.” He laughed at her indignation. “If you will go stirrin’ up kingdoms you must expect to get splashed.”

            Her protests that she wasn’t doing any such thing sounded thin even to her, and though she needed to understand more clearly where such files came from Kel wasn’t sorry to slide conversation back to Jerrold Tinker. George, however, said less than she’d expected.

            “He’s his own man, Kel, none of mine for all we’re friends. He’d not thank presumption and as you’re a natural diplomat when you’re not a living terror I imagine you’ll get along just fine. You stand your ground, he’ll stand his, and you can have a nice chat about things in the middle. How were you proposing to contact him?”

            “Um, I was going to go to the _Dancing Dove_ tomorrow.”

            “Fair enough, but send a note to the barkeep today to say you’ll be dropping in. Surprises as big as you don’t go down so well at the _Dove_.”

            “Tell me about it.”

            “Eh? Ah yes, Jon’s little brainstorm. Don’t ask me—havin’ been away I don’t know what Myles may have turned up, or why Jon’s decided this is the way to go.”

            Alanna shook her head grumpily. “Myles doesn’t have proof, only what he calls a haystack in the wind. Jon wants to be doing, George.”

            “Does he, lass? Well, he always had an impatient streak.”

            “He calls it boldness. And to be fair being faced with the possibility of such widespread treason is making him very unhappy. Genlith, Runnerspring, and Torhelm have never liked him any more than Stone Mountain does—they all wanted Roger and Josiane, the fools—but they’ve never seemed disloyal _this_ way and with Shinko and her uncle looking over his shoulder he’s not willing to play a waiting game any more. And the war _has_ been dragging—I was as sure as Vanget Maggur had to come this year.” She shook her head again. “Gods only know what’ll happen. But tell Kel what you’ve been up to.”

            “Mmm. I think I’ll be leavin’ names out, Kel—no offence. But the long and short is that Aly disappeared on us because she managed to get herself sold in Rajmuat—to a noble family who are very interestin’ in all sorts of ways. And it wasn’t her fault, nor yet coincidence, because the Crooked God is in it up to his lyin’ neck, curse him. He laid her a wager.”

            Kel couldn’t help a dark laugh. “The gods are betting on us?”

            “Not on us, Kel, though I suppose they might be doin’ that too. _With_ us. And he is the god of gamblers, as of thieves, the poxy old cheat. Aly had to use skills she’s picked up to keep some people alive this summer, which she did, so he owes her a boon, much good may it do her. But his real bet was she’d get hooked, and she has, so she’s stayin’ to help her new friends with a trick His festerin’ Godliness has planned.”

            Entertained despite herself by George’s colourful disparagement of his divine patron, which she thought probably well deserved, Kel’s mind clicked. “The Kyprish Prophecy. Time for a _raka_ queen. The tricksters all like it but there are gods who won’t, which is why your prayers to the Goddess were blocked. And Shakith is helping keep possibilities open.”

            George looked at her admiringly. “Well now, you did that on very few clues. The lass said you’d acquired an interestin’ angle on gods. I don’t know if you’re right but I expect the Rittevons to have a _very_ interestin’ year. Those that are left—they’ve been droppin’ like flies.”

            “A terminally interesting year?”

            “Maybe.” He waggled a hand. “If the _raka_ are as strong as I think, _and_ have the mages, _and_ play it right, I think they’ve a chance. And having Aly helpin’ doesn’t hurt—she’s a good girl and listened to what Myles and I told her down the years.” Alanna snorted and George smiled easily. “It’s what she was born for, lass, as you were born to be a Lioness. We’ve just to live with it. And professionally speakin’, I have to say the Rittevons are ripe. Their security’s got holes a mile wide, and if Dunevon’s sentimentally loved Imajane isn’t at all. Rubinyan’s not hated the same but will be if he doesn’t control her, which I’m not sure he can. She’ll try harshness and more harshness before she tries anythin’ else, but I’d reckon they’re close to the end of that road and if any major _luarin_ nobles turn against them, well, it won’t be pretty.”

            “It isn’t now. Nor Maggur’s Scanra.” Kel was thinking hard. “Alanna, do you remember—no, you weren’t there, it was Shinko and my parents. Patterns and echoes, you and me, the Copper Isles and Scanra—two unstable thrones, two recurrent problems, two prophecies, and gods hip deep in both. So. Let’s say Blayce’s necromancy annoyed the gods enough they focused on _why_ it happened, and beyond stopping it saw this roil in the timeway as a chance to get something done. And the Crooked God and pals have cooked up a side-project to do as much for the Copper Isles. They’ve been bubbling and now they’re coming to a boil. Which means we have to be coming close to the roil, and things are going to break.” She looked at Alanna. “What odds on a February siege now?”

            “Shortening.”

            “And we both know however the gods might help they like sweat. They don’t give useless gifts either so the Black God gave me that absolution because he knows I’ll need it and that means Maggur’ll come in force.” She stared into space while Alanna and George watched, faces tight. “If you can’t persuade the King to stay away, Alanna, for the Goddess’s sake get him to bring troops _with_ him. We need them inside, not hoping to reach us in time. Besides whatever mages and immortals Maggur has our great weakness is sheer numbers. If I put every soldier I’ve got on the outer alures I’ve only two or three per crenel. Add every civilian and once the passive defences are used we’re too thin to hold against multiple escalade. And if the gate’s mageblasted open …”

            “Jon’ll be stubborn. He’s in a frame of mind where opposition just puts his back up.”

            “Go through Thayet, then, and I’ll go through Roald and Shinko—they’ve been there and Roald knows first-hand just how long the alures are. Let His Majesty deal with an inflexibly polite Yamani demand that an esteemed father-in-law not idiotically endanger his esteemed head.” George guffawed, but it wasn’t funny. “Am I right Wyldon, Raoul, and Vanget will all be coming?”

            Alanna shrugged. “They’re supposed to.”

            “Then they come _heavily_ escorted. A company apiece. You too. And maybe Ennor, Terres, Imrah, even Nond and Blue Harbour could be  
persuaded to bring escorts—every squad will help. I’m loath to ask my brothers to spare men when wolfships could show up, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Papa to have two squads.” She rubbed her eyes, which felt hot and gritty. “I don’t need field forces, just men who can stand their ground and shoot fast and accurately, with as many full quivers as they can possibly bring.” She began to count on her fingers. “Food we can do, just, thought companies should bring field rations.” A second finger extended. “But they’ll be sleeping rough in the caves so they need bedrolls. If they get to sleep at all.” A third finger. “And we can’t stable four hundred horses, so foot companies. Swords, short spears, and bows. Slings if they have them.” She ran out of fingers and spread both hands. “Company mages, healers, fletchers. You know what’ll be needed.”

            “Whoa, Kel.” George was half-smiling. “That’s a lot of men you’re shiftin’ about. Jon’ll have his own in motion. You don’t want to interfere.”

            She blew out a breath. “George, I’ve got four-and-a-half thousand feet of alure, and three-hundred-and-fifty soldiers. Half of them convicts with less than two years’ training and no experience of anything like this. Maggur could bring ten thousand. Do the maths.”

            Alanna nodded heavily. “She’s right, George. I’ve told Jon but he’s dazzled by Kel’s fixed defences, and can’t get his head round the idea anyone could reckon to lose two, three thousand men and keep coming. But Maggur’s got to be desperate, the men holding him on his throne have nowhere to go, and he has coerced forces to draw our teeth. If any traps were magically compromised we’d be in trouble. I’ll talk to Vanget.”

            “Privately.” Kel met Alanna’s eyes. “Two can play surprise the goat.”

            She snorted but her eyes weren’t amused. “True. Are you alright with that, Kel? It’s the oddest thing about this—he could perfectly well have told us. I don’t know if it’s habit or if he’s slapping at us somehow, but it’s stupid all the same.”

            Kel stood, banking rage. “No, I’m not alright with it, Alanna. I think it’s going to kill a lot of my people, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” She managed a crooked smile. “But the last time I felt like this I headed for the Vassa alone, and that seems to have worked out. And everybody’s told me to keep on doing what I do. So I will. We can reckon it up afterwards, if we win. And if we don’t, we’ll be past caring.”

            “So we will.” Alanna slung an arm round Kel’s waist. “D’you want to talk to Vanget too?”

            “No, you lay it out. I’m going to see if Shakith’s listening to Irnai, then I’ve to see Shinko and Roald, and a message to deliver.”

            George shook his head. “Calm down first, Kel. You don’t want to be bendin’ ears or goin’ down the _Dove_ in a mood like this.”

            Seamlessly, her Yamani mask slipped into place and her body posture changed as rage was contained, burning the brighter for its confinement. Relaxing, she laid hands on thighs and made a bow, exact in depth and flourish, noble to senior noble, straightening with fluid ease.

            “Better, Pirate’s Swoop- _sensei?_ Good. Time’s wasting.”

            Alanna cackled and they left George staring, but Kel had no room for amusement and the future suddenly seemed stark. George was right it wasn’t the time to lose her temper, however it fuelled her, and as she parted from Alanna and headed for her rooms she forced herself into the breathing rhythm of a pattern dance. She couldn’t leave Corus before Longnight, and Lalasa’s wedding would be no better served by rage than her meeting with Jerrold Tinker. She thought she’d managed to enforce inner calm by the time she entered to find Tobe and Irnai talking to a bouncing Kitten but as soon as they saw her they focused on her completely with the question plain in their faces, and she pulled up a chair. Priorities rolled in her mind.

            “Irnai, has Shakith said anything to you lately?”

            “No. Kitten doesn’t know if her grandsire is coming and I tried to find out. But that might be because he’s a dragon, I suppose.”

            “It’s alright, sweeting. I didn’t expect it. But things are happening. We’ll be leaving right after Longnight. Unless you’d rather stay here for a while—Adie and Orie will be in town and you could stay with them.”

            Tobe wasn’t fooled for a moment. “Is it the battle, Ma?”

            “I think so. And I think it’ll be bad. It would be good to know you were both safe.”

            He looked mulish. “Tough, Ma. I’m not leaving you.”

            “And the god has not told me to run and hide.” That Irnai could be stubborn Kel knew all too well. “I would rather be with those I know.”

            However foolishly she wanted them there too, and hugged them both as Kitten chirped distressed enquiry.

            _What is happening, Kel? Why are you upset?_

            “The King’s being an idiot, Kitten. Your Da will tell you more—he’s going to be travelling north soon too, and maybe your Ma. Meantime, if Lord Diamondflame does come please tell him I’d like to talk to him.”

            _Of course. He will want to talk to you about the skullroad. But I do not know if he will come. Last year he made sure I knew he would. This year he has not. I do not know why._

            The dragonet sounded wistful, and Kel withdrew her hand from Tobe to caress Kit’s head. “Well, if he does.” Thoughts collided and swallowing guilt she looked at her unlikely friend with a speculative glint. “Now, I’ve got to see Roald and Shinko. They’ll be preparing for the Queen’s Ball. If you come—and you two—you have to keep silent about what you learn, but you’ll find out what’s happening and can speak on others’ behalf—for children at New Hope, Scanrans, and immortals, because they’re going to be in as much danger as everyone else.”

            After that wild horses wouldn’t have stopped them, and the cynical part of Kel’s mind thought they worked on Roald and Shinko exactly as intended. Neither was happy and Roald repeatedly apologised for what he called the position she’d been put in, but they’d clearly been bullied into agreement and she didn’t waste time with recriminations but equally didn’t pull punches about what was being risked beyond His Majesty’s person—including Yuki, Maggur’s former liegefolk to whom protection had been promised, and the immortal experiment. Tobe and Irnai didn’t have to say anything, and Kitten managed to confine herself to emphatic observation that if basilisks died dragons would not be happy, using a mindvoice everyone heard and letting a curl of flame escape her paws; Kel was sure that was calculated and found she approved. Roald still had to deal with his father and was unhappily dithering when Kel suggested he support Shinko, and at her surprised look mentioned one of her great-aunts who had famously once bent the emperor to her will through a combination of extreme politeness and unreasonable immobility. Cricket’s eyes lit up in a Crown Princess’s face.

            Kel didn’t let success go to her head, and left the children and Kitten behind when she rode to the lower city to leave a message for the Rogue. She’d changed into a plain tunic—she wasn’t going as her father’s daughter—but was bothered if she was going to sneak; she’d told everyone with a right to know what she was doing, and secrecy wasn’t the point. The Protector needed to talk to the Rogue and if the King didn’t like it he could lump it.

            She had known of the _Dancing Dove_ since her first page year when she’d heard Stefan mention it, and Neal had told her a fanciful story about how it was supposed to have become the Court of the Rogue two centuries back. She had assumed it a tall tale, but seeing the place wondered. It was an old, rambling inn in Nipcopper Close that looked to have been converted from houses and had certainly been repeatedly altered and redecorated. Its outside was a patchwork of cheerful if faded colour and a choice of doorways, but over one hung the sign, a well-tended image of a beautiful woman, dressed like a player with hands above head and a swirling skirt—a Rogue’s mother, in Neal’s version. Kel dismounted, and as there wasn’t anything resembling a hitching post asked Alder to wait. She spotted an urchin boy along the way, betrayed from stillness by his interest in the horse. She flipped a copper at him and saw him catch it before coming uncertainly forward.

            “Lady?”

            “Watch my horse? I’ll only be a minute and there’s another copper in it for you when I come out.”

            “I can do that, lady, but that’s a fine horse. There’ll be folk who’d like him I can’t stop.”

            “Oh, you don’t have to guard _him_. He’ll guard himself. But he can’t speak so you warn anyone who’d like him on his behalf, eh?” She knew other ears would hear, as they would if she was speaking to one soldier on the alure. “Then I’ll not be liable for missing fingers or broken feet.”

            Alder obliged her by clashing teeth. Smiling she left him and the boy to introduce themselves and pushed open the door, finding herself in a spacious room knocked together from smaller ones. A tall, bearded man was serving, a dozen men and half as many women at tables in small groups. From the drawing in the file she was fairly sure Jerrold Tinker was in the largest group, near a fire, and there was a pattern in the way others sat, leaving him space, but though serendipity called on his turf it was his call. She walked to the bar.

            “Good evening. I’m sorry to intrude without an introduction but there’s folk you likely know who’d vouch for me. I wondered if I might leave this for His Majesty.” She offered a sealed note.

            “Seems you’ve the wrong place, lady. You wants the Palace.”

            “Wrong majesty.” She laid a silver bit on the counter. “For your trouble. Just see it delivered please, today. I won’t say there can’t be harm in words but there’s none in these.”

            He nodded and no-one said anything so she turned and left, carefully shutting the door. A number of young men were in a circle around Alder and the boy was to his credit earnestly telling them they didn’t want to mess with this horse or its rider, but when they saw her their eyes lit up and one took a half-step forward.

            “That’s a lot of horse for a woman.”

            She considered him calmly. “No. I’m a lot of woman for one horse, but Alder does nicely. He’s used to barding and Scanran archers, so right now he’s feeling light as a feather and not very threatened. He has a nice line in high kicks, though. Show them, Alder, _not_ hurting anyone?”

            He blinked a liquid eye that might have been amused or mildly offended and reared, lashing a forehoof that touched nothing and had her interlocutor flailing backwards, white terror on his face.

            “Told you.” She swung into the saddle and made sure the bit she flipped to the boy was silver. “Thank you for an honest job—it pays better than hankering after a warhorse who’s killed men.” She fixed the young men with a gaze that became commander cold. “And there’s authorities closer than me who don’t much care for young men who think it’s fine to try to hassle a woman on her own. If you’d asked politely to be introduced I’d have done so cheerfully—Alder likes meeting people. Instead you get a lesson in manners, so when you rise tomorrow try turning your brain on instead of just your teeth, eh?”

            She heard laughter somewhere as she asked Alder to walk on, but no-one called her back and she rode to the Palace wondering if she’d struck the right note. It would have worked with soldiers and George had said she should stand her ground; presumably, for when she returned next morning the boy was waiting with a smile and Jerrold Tinker alone at a table, a pot of tea and two cups before him. Even the barkeep was absent, and though Kel didn’t doubt there were people nearby she appreciated the trust offered.

            “Your Majesty.”

            “Protector.” He wasn’t handsome, face battered and teeth crooked in a wide mouth, but his smile was easy. “Have a cup of tea.” He poured it—not Yamani tea but a rougher brew from the wild plant—and she thanked him. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to put a face to a name. I hope Jacut passed on my respects? I hadn’t expected to be hearing from him anytime soon until I read that report of yours, and when he came by to ask if he could use the _Dove_ as a meeting-point for his lads he had interesting things to say about you and New Hope. Loyal ones.”

            “He did, thank you. And yes, he’s a New Hope man now. They all are. Which isn’t to say old, well-behaved friends won’t be welcome when peace allows.” She smiled. “But that’s down the road. What isn’t is that tomorrow Lalasa Isran is getting married and she’s going to have some distinguished guests, Your Majesty.”

            “And they don’t call you the Protector for nothing.” He grinned charmingly. “Aren’t titles useful things?”

            “Very. Shall we dispense with them?”

            He laughed. “Yes, of course. I’m Jer to my friends.”

            “Kel.”

            “No lady?”

            She spoke carefully. “Lady Kel is what my people call me—the mortals, anyway—and you’re not one of those.”

            He cocked his head. “You call those immortals your people too?”

            “Oh yes. My name on the treaties, my duty in their care and defence. We’re all New Hopers.”

            “And what new hope will it be?”

            She shrugged. “If we lose the battle that’s coming, none. But if we win—well, that’ll be ours to bargain for, won’t it? If I’m alive I’ll be carrying on as I have been. And if Jacut’s alive he’ll be a senior officer in a new fief with a very interesting guild. But first things first, please. How many guards do I need to bring Lalasa’s guests to Jane Street?”

            “You don’t _need_ any. An honour guard is no problem.”

            “His other Majesty may insist on more. He’s got a lot on his plate just now and he does love his wife and daughter-in-law.”

            He smiled at her way of distinguishing the King. “Fair enough, but the fewer the merrier. I’m loyal enough, as things go, and _nothing_ touches Miss Isran in my town.”

            “Now there we’re agreed.” Kel sat back. “I appreciate your support for the classes and thank you for it. Please feel free to talk to Lalasa about extending them to Port Caynn. I’m sure there are women there who’d be excellent candidates as Protector’s Maids. And there’s icelights—you know about them?”

            “I’ve heard something.”

            She took a few of the beads Numair and Amiir’aan had made for the children from her pocket. “Just samples, so the idea’s plain. They absorb daylight and shine in the dark. Lalasa and Master Orman will be promoting them on the Guild’s behalf. They come in any size and shape, and we’ll be offering a very good deal to light the lower city.” She let irony shade her voice. “I understand the Lord Provost’s keen, but you can’t have everything and I do see it as a follow-up to the classes.”

            He rolled beads. “That’s something of a balancing act for me, Kel.”

            “I imagine it is. Still, there’s no price on the damage that can be done to a woman, is there? I know that, Jer, from the Black God’s own lips, and Lalasa knows it too.” She saw his acknowledgement and the shadows of old pain. “Besides, clever business doesn’t need darkness and there’ll be _lots_ of negotiations over where icelights go. Pillars or strips on walls? All sorts of questions. But there will be lights—they protect.”

            “Yes, they do. Or will. I can live with that. Happily, in fact.” He sat back. “You’re not what I expected, Kel. They said you get what you need and you’re not a woman to cross, but you’re more fun that that. Lalasa says you’re the sun and stars rolled together, but you’re more grounded than that.” His gaze drifted to his tea. “They also say you invite gods to dinner and call on them as you will. Well, we all do, but they answer you. They say. And you’ve named one I’m not keen to meet for a long time.”

            “They say a lot, Jer, but yes, the gods seem to be interested in me. I have no intention of discussing them, and I sincerely hope their interest fades when war is done. But I’ll say two things, though I’d rather not swear by gods’ oath. It attracts unwanted attention. One is that while I’ve never met the Crooked God I’ve reason to believe he’d not want to thwart anything I’m about. And you shouldn’t fear the Black God, whenever your time comes.”

            “And inviting two to dinner?”

            Amusement joined thoughtfulness in his eyes and she smiled where once she might have flushed. “Their daughter was my guest and I had just dedicated their first major shrines. It was only polite.”

            “I’d have offered them tea, myself.” He smiled slowly, more openly than before, and she let herself smile back; he was a charming and interesting man, however deadly and by her lights set on the wrong road. “I think we’ll get along famously, as George thought.”

            Practical issues were soon sorted. What any Majesties involved would make of sharing a reception remained to be seen but Jer looked forward to it. He saw her out, a gesture whose value she realised when he opened the door on a crowd of women gathered around Alder and the boy, who had progressed to scratching the gelding’s poll. Among them were several Kel recognised as kin of her Maids and greeted, apologising as she mounted that she couldn’t stop. She grasped Jer’s hand.

            “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

            “And thank you, Protector. All honour to you.” For the second time in a day she asked Alder to walk on, away from the _Dancing Dove_ , but this time supplied the laughter as she heard the Rogue’s exasperated voice behind her. “Miss Isran’s wedding, loobies. What did you think?”


	23. Charity

**Chapter Twenty-Three — Charity**

_19–26 December_

 

To Kel’s surprise Roald insisted on coming with Shinko and his mother. That morning was Iden’s Ordeal and Kel and the children, accompanying Owen, met the Prince and Princess in the Chapel. He expressed his desire to attend, offering reasons that didn’t add up, and Iden’s dazed emergence allowed him to take it as a done deal. Muttering, Kel despatched messengers, and while part of her was pleased for Lalasa she thought politics were at work. Sir Myles had once spoken of the ‘reversionary interest’ that developed around the heir, but what Roald was demonstrating to whom Kel couldn’t work out. She suspected it was to do with being his own man against his father’s manipulations, which was well and good but shouldn’t inconvenience Lalasa.

            In any case he was at Shinko’s side as she entered the Temple of Mithros behind Thayet, both gorgeous in creations of Lalasa’s. Kel was in her green kimonos, and escorted them to reserved seats; as Lalasa had been extremely reticent about her guests of honour there was surprise as they were identified. The congregation was unusual: Lalasa had no surviving family except Gower, still in Palace service and magnificently gloomy in a bright tunic, who was giving her away, but Tomas had an array of siblings, nephews and nieces, massed with his happy parents. They had many friends with them but even so were outnumbered by the crush of people supporting Lalasa: favoured customers, Protector’s Maids, and people involved in the self-defence classes, including a large group—or pack—of Dogs. Palace servants were represented, a beaming Salma among them, as were trades-, Guilds-, and Wardsmen with whom Lalasa’s business brought her into contact. Nor had the Dogs deterred Jerrold Tinker, who ghosted Kel a wink when she caught his eye. Lalasa’s exquisite needlework made a swathe of elegance among outfits, however varied in cut and style, and there was a catalogue of mercantile and lower-city best, some gaudier than tasteful and surprisingly unflattering to the wearers. It might all have clashed as horribly as some colours but everyone was minded to enjoy themselves and tolerantly curious about the unusual. A royal appearance by the bride’s most famous patrons was altogether satisfactory, honouring the woman everyone agreed was the best dress-maker of her time, and giving the best possible imprimatur to the occasion. Kel found it satisfactory too, for different reasons, and as they waited for bride and groom found herself reflecting on the frightened girl Gower had persuaded her to take into service, and wondering about the effects their intertwining lives had generated.

            As tactfully as sensibly Lalasa had not sought to compete with her own best efforts, and her wedding dress was a marvel of simplicity, relying on purity of line, a long train, and sumptuous white material in which rainbow colours shimmered. Emboldened by her experience as Yuki’s bridesmaid Kel had offered to do as much again but Lalasa had indignantly refused, insisting she would be a guest, not a workhorse, and seeing the concentration of the women from Lalasa’s staff who carried the train, manoeuvring it to lie as it ought, she was grateful to be so. The dazzling dress might have left Tomas invisible but complimented his tunic and breeches, in the same shimmering material piped in blue and embroidered with symbols of his craft; he wore a small sigil that marked him as a journeyman, declaring that while he might not have the same talent and acumen as Lalasa he’d no need to marry for advantage. When they claimed one another, faces radiant, the chimes sounded, which didn’t always happen at weddings and was thought a sign of true mutual devotion; bride and groom laughed startled delight, and as they exchanged necklaces and lit the fire Kel directed thanks to the stern-faced statue behind them, wondering who else might be watching and what they thought of the King’s decision to gamble with the timeway. The first shy kiss and the raucous cheer it produced brought her back to the present and a renewed appreciation of her own inactivity as she saw the train smoothly turned.

            Massed carriages in Jane Street was not possible, and neither Lalasa’s finery nor the outfits Kel and the royal women wore allowed riding or walking far, so changes were necessary. The Mithran priests had tut-tutted at Lalasa’s shy request so Kel had simply had Irnai ask for use of a room in the Temple of Shakith, ignoring the stuttered reversals of the Mithrans when they’d finally put two and two together, and she, Thayet, and Shinko found Lalasa just finishing. The second dress was similar but lacked the train and was cut to allow walking, and she was set to help her patrons change if Kel hadn’t told her not even to think of such a thing on her wedding day. Thayet’s personal maids were on hand, and one, having received stringent orders from a laughing queen, ruthlessly overrode Shinko’s protests to remove the face-paint on which she’d insisted for the wedding. Kel was deftly helped from her kimonos; they were all changing to more masculine outfits—for the royals leggings and long, colourful Kmiri tunics—so Kel had to lose her shift and was briefly reduced to breastband and loincloth.

            She heard indrawn breaths and became aware as she hadn’t been for a while of her scars. The many griffin marks on hands and forearms had long faded to thin tracery but arrows, spears, and swords had spotted and laddered arms and legs, and her narrow breastband didn’t begin to hide the welted spiderweb from Stenmun’s axe-point that spread across her left shoulder. When she’d first been naked before Dom the trembling world and the terrible wound on his leg had made her disfigurements unimportant, and on other nights his fingers and lips had traced them, as hers had traced his, with soft questions of provenance. Now self-consciousness possessed her understanding of how they set her apart not only from Thayet and Shinko, with their lovely skins, but from almost all noblewomen, yet she didn’t shrink from examination as she once would, drawing on breeches, vest, and her best Mindelan tunic without looking at the others. Buttoning up she coolly met eyes.

            “They come with the territory, I’m afraid. I count myself fortunate I’ve never broken my nose, and often wonder how I’ve managed it.” Few knights who jousted much had failed to do so, but Thayet wasn’t fooled.

            “I’m sorry, Keladry. I was thinking of the price you have paid on all our behalves. That shoulder wound was from Rathhausak?”

            She nodded. “Axe-point. Careless of me, but it could be worse.”

            “I don’t think that’s quite the point.” To Kel’s surprise Thayet gave her a quick embrace. “I know how much Jon and I owe you, and I’m sorry we must hope to owe you more. I was very upset about that decision.”

            “It doesn’t matter, Thayet, especially today.”

            Kel didn’t want Scanra or the timeway to invade a day blessedly free of them, and Thayet nodded but drew Kel’s arm through her own as they followed Lalasa out. Numair had been on notice to provide a rainshield but the day was sunny and many guests walked. Some had gone ahead but Lalasa and Tomas led a principal group with bridesmaids and Tomas’s best man and supporter—his brother and closest friend—followed by Kel with the children and Thayet, and Roald with Shinko. The royals’ guard flanked them, uniforms gleaming and eyes alert but trying hard not to march, and Kel’s escort, more relaxed, flanked the column trailing behind. They were inevitably moving slowly and Kel’s eyes, probing the crowd, identified Rogue’s men among them but her attention was on Thayet’s conversation as she smiled and waved at good-humoured crowds on Temple Way and Gold Street. It wouldn’t have struck Kel as the place to have a talk but she realised it was ideal; they could barely hear one another, and no-one could hope to eavesdrop.

            “It does matter, Keladry, and I suspect I shan’t have another chance to talk to you before you leave. The way you froze Jon after the Council was less than he deserved, and if it’s any consolation it left him very uncomfortable. It was impressive.” Thayet broke off to greet a woman Kel gathered was a Palace servitor, and effortlessly left her standing taller. “I don’t understand why he’s so unable to treat you well. Well, maybe I do, but let’s say he knows he’s been on the wrong foot with you from the beginning, and didn’t take your, um, apprehensions about him after Rathhausak well. Didn’t like the view in the mirror. Nor having to trail you to deal with the elemental.”

            “Numair said something about Kalasin’s decision not to—”

            “Jon’s decision, you mean. Yes, that’s in there, but it’s not only that. There are shadows of Alanna, and he wonders if you’ll be Roald’s Champion as she is his. But what matters is how he’s using you, or trying to, because he’s got himself in an impatient muddle about you and what the gods are doing, and is trying to regain his footing with himself.”

            Kel wasn’t sure she understood, though squinting she could see she might have posed a greater challenge to the King than she’d understood, and for longer. Even when she’d learned that he and Alanna had been lovers, illuminating a tempestuous relationship, she hadn’t imagined the King’s view of _her_ through a personal rather than political window. She couldn’t believe those cool blue eyes had ever harboured desire for her—it was absurd, as every glance at Thayet confirmed—but dimly intuited that the politics crackling around her had, even while she was innocent of them, for the King been shot through with strange echoes coloured by Alanna’s refusal and critical provision of the Dominion Jewel and her Championship. But Thayet hadn’t finished.

            “Anyway, despite everything, I have to ask you to keep him safe. Detail three soldiers to sit on him if you must, but _don’t_ let him get himself killed in some attempt at heroics. And if what you fear does happen get him out if you can. Roald’s coming on well and Shinko’s a treasure, but they’re too young, especially with all the treason issues looming, and Roald can’t yet use the Dominion Jewel as Jon can.”

            “Of course I’ll protect him, Thayet, but I can’t have people sit on him. He’s in charge.”

            “He won’t be if there _is_ a battle. And at New Hope _you_ will be, even if Vanget’s giving military orders. You look at him as you did the other day, tell him to do whatever sensible thing you’re ordering, and he will. He’s a fair strategist but no field commander, and knows it. It’s another thing he struggles with. I call it Jasson’s Shadow but not to him because I get a cross lecture about why his all-conquering grandpa has nothing to do with anything.”

            She spoke to an elderly Kmir and his wife, in leggings and tunics like Thayet’s own. The chopping syllables of Kmiri always seemed to Kel to lack the grace of Yamani, and she was surprised to hear Shinko speak in the same tongue. Then again, proper ways of controlling mothers-in-law was a subject of extensive Yamani discussion and there were earnest treatises of advice to brides; Kel could just imagine a tart observation that the misfortune of having a _gaijin_ mother-in-law to deal with did provide an obvious first step in garnering approval.

            “Were they with you when you came to Tortall?”

            “No, only Buri. But Kmiris came over the following decade, when it was clear I’d landed on my feet and Sarain was still a nightmare. There’s a community in Whitethorn, because of their horsefair, and that man’s an ostler for the Lord Provost. But we’ll be there soon.” Thayet’s apparent attention to the crowd never wavered but her arm, still through Kel’s, tightened. “I’m afraid, Kel, because I agree with you Jon’s taking a bigger risk than he realises, but I have to believe it’ll work. And if it does, as we hope—especially if Maggur is killed—there will be a moment when the world is in your hands. It’s not for me or anyone to tell you what to do with the power you’ll hold, but there’ll be a point where you want something different than he does, and that will matter enough. Unless something’s horribly wrong, if you put yourself on the line, demanding part of what you’re owed, he’ll fold. Remember it.”

            Kel wasn’t sure if it was luck or good timing by Thayet that had her concluding this dream-coloured analysis as the turn from Dog’s Way into Jane Street forced them to disengage. Doing so the Queen dropped back, leaving Kel to follow bride and groom down a single file between soldiers comically drawing arms in to allow their charges room. The crowd was deafening, and a rhythmic thumping was eventually revealed as Dogs clashing batons, waiting for their own among the trailing guests. One of Jerrold’s men she recognised from the _Dancing Dove_ was watching with a look she was tempted to call a bemused sneer, but when she caught his eye grinned and adopted an earnest expression that brought a smile to her lips.

            The Weavers’ Guildhall was less ostentatious than most, its members closer to the poverty fluctuating prices and thin margins could bring, but it was grand by Jane Street standards. Its stonework was clean, and engaged columns echoed by intervening pilasters, harking back to the Thanic style of Tortall’s oldest buildings, gave it the look of a temple or court. Before visiting to consider security for Thayet and Shinko Kel had never been inside a Corus guildhall, and hadn’t known what to expect, but the Guildmaster’s office proved neat and bustling and the Great Hall splendid, lined with tapestries and equipped with fine tables the Guildmaster said came from a useful deal with the Joiners. Sunlight streamed through high windows but a hundred candles were lit; glassware gleamed, silver glinted and enticing aromas gusted.

            As many people were being packed in as it could hold, and there was the usual polite manoeuvring as everyone found places. On high table seating wasn’t what one might expect, save for Lalasa and Tomas together, with Gower and Tomas’s parents flanking them: Kel, with the children, Thayet, Shinko, and a squeezed-in Roald were opposite, but to Kel’s amusement Jerrold Tinker drifted to the seat beyond Roald, and beyond him was a young Dog she recognised as one of the self-defence instructors. The two seemed to get on famously, however they were opponents in law, and though mischief tugged at Kel she controlled it and murmured to Thayet that Shinko might tell Roald he was next to the Rogue. Thayet’s blink was its own satisfaction—the things she’d said swirled distractingly in Kel’s mind—and a moment later she saw Roald stiffen, then turn affably to Jerrold. The seat beyond the children was taken by her sister Adie’s maid Tian, whom she’d known was doing a lot of organising but hadn’t seen to speak to. Tian had never been as fearful as Lalasa, but there had been a time when she could no more have smiled so easily taking a seat in this company than Kel could when fear of heights had frozen her; to see her now as confident as the young Dog Kel could hear sizing up Roald was a warmth she knew to be pride. It wasn’t in herself—people had to grow themselves—but she knew she’d played a part in these women’s success, and wasn’t embarrassed by Thayet’s murmur as she followed Kel’s look and thought.

            “You’ve done more in two years than I’ve managed in twenty, Keladry. If I wasn’t so grateful I’d be jealous.”

            “I didn’t have a husband who doesn’t know what to make of women to manage. And Lalasa took power for herself, not by direction. Try it.”

            Thayet’s rich laugh turned heads and she squeezed Kel’s shoulder before turning to Shinko as food began to be served. A few days before, Kel had used a little carving of the Green Lady Tobe had made to fashion a tiny shrine—there were none in Corus nor anywhere nearer than New Hope—and sent up a prayer filled with an ironic appreciation that some requests were absurd but couldn’t in love and friendship not be made. The kitchen aromas had already made her wonder, and when the white soup starter exploded almonds and parsley on her tongue she sent up a blaze of thanks mixed with apologies for having no intention of making them public, and imagined she heard a mellow laugh among the dancing flavours. There were exclamations all round and Kel’s sudden, guilty thought about the disappointments the cooks would find trying to duplicate their success was soothed away with what she would have sworn was another laugh.

            How the Green Lady enhanced the wine Kel wasn’t sure, sticking to juice with the children, but those around her were talking with great good cheer. Shinko had a fit of giggles at something, holding her _shukusen_ before her face and almost getting hiccoughs as she tried to control mirth, and Thayet’s gorgeous laugh was frequent. Even Gower essayed a chuckle, and after Kel and Lalasa met one another’s astonished eyes they dissolved into laughter they were hard put to it to explain without offending his lugubrious dignity. But he was bursting with pride in his niece, gratitude to Kel, and an attitude to the royals she couldn’t quite work out but blended humility, triumph, astonishment, and approval with a unifying satisfaction of wild hope. It occurred to Kel how much she owed him, and when he mentioned her in a speech of impeccable dignity she found herself possessed by a powerful sense of how odd it was that those who’d helped her most so often believed she’d helped them. Fortunately she didn’t have to speak herself, but was mentioned again by Tian when she spoke of Lalasa’s path to the altar. By some unspoken agreement both omitted the usual toasts and the slack was taken up by Thayet, rising to propose the couple’s health, prosperity, and fertility to the benefit of themselves, their community, and the realm, and unleashing a storm of cheers, catcalls, whistles, and all-round approval that palpably lashed the whole high table. Kel saw a glazed look flicker in Irnai’s eyes and wondered if somewhere a hawk was calling, finding in the moment one future rather than another; on her other side Thayet also had a strange look as she sat, and Kel realised that for all the publicity of her life she’d probably never commanded such a mixed audience, more like soldiers than courtiers in their humour. Or not in Tortall—the tale of escorting orphans through the horrors of Sarain’s civil war reminded her how little she knew about her Queen’s life before Alanna entered it. And that could be rectified, with overdue discussion of Buri, her pregnancy, and the virtues of the Green Lady’s spiral.

            There was music and dancing but many people never made it out of the Great Hall, lingering over any food they could find and continuing to drink without ever becoming drunk. By common acclaim the cooks were summoned, toasted, and presented with glasses of wine. Tobe and Irnai slipped down to wander among the tables, and when they wanted to explore, glancing at Kel for permission, a flick of her head had two of her men, standing round the walls but as vocal as everyone, quietly going with them. Shinko saw the byplay.

            “Always the Protector, Keladry- _chan_. And so wise. It took only an hour’s polite immobility for my esteemed father-in-law to swear he would take the Own’s First in all their glory. Roald has ordered their quartermaster to take every arrow they can find. I will work on more.”

            “Thank you, Cricket. And Roald.” She gave a crooked grin. “It all helps. And pray to Lord Sakuyo. He’s dancing in our lives right now.”

            “I always do.” Uncharacteristically with Kel Shinko’s _shukusen_ came up as she switched to Yamani. “Keladry- _sensei_ , has the High One spoken to you? I have felt his comfort when I pray, and no longer think our meeting as children or the death of Princess Chisokami were accidents.”

            Kel had similar thoughts and Yamani was secure here. “I’ve never met him, Cricket, but I believe he’s offered me comfort too—a strange calm. I think it’s what his laughter lives on. I’m sure we’re part of his joke, as poor Aly seems to have become part of the Crooked God’s, if you know that story. But it’s a joke through us, not on us.” A thought fell into place, perfectly. “We’re both jokes on Tortall, Cricket. And on Mithros. I think the Goddess is with the tricksters in this. Ask yourself, what did male Tortall want least after Alanna and your mother-in-law? Not a Tortallan noblewoman who’d trained to arms since she was five, nor a gorgeous Yamani who could whap the best of them with a glaive before breakfast any day. And we’re childhood friends?” She dropped into a low mode filled with dialect she knew Cricket could follow because they’d once overheard an imperial gardener using it most surprisingly, and often eavesdropped on him thereafter. “The Cult of the Gentle Mother be well swived, Cricket, and laughing with pleasure after. The icemen are on us, the _raka_ ready to rise, and women set Sungod and old men alike by the ears. Ice and Copper aren’t the only things melting in this fire.” For the last thing she knew she had to revert to proper Yamani, and chose the high mode of friend-to-imperial; she’d never used it before but it flowed from her tongue. “Everywhere and everyone is on the timeway and turns with it. Tell your uncle the best way to ride a joke is to participate vigorously. He should make great effort with the spidrens on Wangetsushima.” Her voice became dreamy. “He could offer young spidrens training as their own unit, and use them against bandits and raiders. _Even thunder stills / to hear Him ease His lungs._ ”

            Kel blinked, and knew from the blazing look in Cricket’s eyes that her thought had been confirmed with something besides. A spidren corps? And yet … were Quenuresh’s kin to restrict themselves for ever as the price of mortal tolerance? Or stay in New Hope’s woods permanently, eating cheese and spinning webs for deer? Their skills as predators would make them formidable soldiers, just as—the thought unfurled to blind her—her dedication as a soldier made her a formidable predator, when she chose. She only knew she spoke aloud because Thayet glanced at her, eyebrows rising.

            “Surely Maggur’s on the wrong side of the gods—not just Lord Mithros and the Black God. He’s on the wrong side of the Goddess and Lord Sakuyo, too, with the joke at least two generations in the making, from before he was even born, poor stupid blasphemer.” She shook her head in piercing pity that balanced Sakuyo’s booming laughter and the Black God’s silence, and met Thayet’s eyes. “The world’s turning. I’ve no idea if I’ll survive, and I know I’m on borrowed time. A grace that wasn’t owed and could rightly be withdrawn any moment. But pray with your daughter-in-law for Sakuyo’s grace and I think you’ll be answered. You told me to seize my moment when it came. But it won’t be mine—it’ll be bigger than that, and if happens it’ll be a joke on me, too. Sakuyo’s best always catch the jokers to their advantage. Ask Shinko for stories.” She didn’t know her smile was heartbreaking. “Have you ever wondered why the Black God’s daughter is one of the tricksters?”

 

* * * * *

 

The time before Longnight passed slowly but Kel wasn’t impatient. War would find her soon enough, and if she didn’t quite think these her last days she had the clarity and calm that came before combat. Warric’s Ordeal was two nights after Iden’s, and she was there with Owen to applaud him; as with Iden, some of those waiting looked at her sidelong as if she might start chatting with the elemental and, she thought uncharitably, didn’t know if they were relieved or disappointed when nothing happened. Otherwise she was free of duties and suited herself.

            A putative horror was avoided when Turomot informed her that while Torhelm could now talk, he wouldn’t, save to curse. Without hard evidence of treason Turomot wouldn’t countenance torture and without answers the King wouldn’t countenance release, so Torhelm would languish until he changed his mind. On the whole Kel felt relief, and tried to forget him. A more pleasing errand was to deliver Lalasa’s present. Not having anticipated such a mild winter she and Tomas were not taking a honeymoon until later, and by mid-morning the day after the wedding she was back at her shop. She couldn’t stop smiling, looking so happy that Kel almost hadn’t the heart to distress her by presenting her with the deeds to the building; protests shifted to a rueful glare when Kel told her she might insist on tithing but in future must pay rent to herself. When Kel left the shop was crowded and she was applauded; doubting one of them could have explained why, she smiled politely and went to find Master Randall for sensible conversation about barding.

            There were also icelights, and the following day Kel went to see the Lord Provost, all affability, then to a meeting with excited Wardsmen and cautious merchants. She had temporarily reclaimed from Master Orman’s office the sample lights Barin had brought, and the winter sun had been bright enough for an impressive demonstration; following it with a more generous offer from the Guild’s than anyone expected, with the sole condition that after Palace Way the poorest areas be lit first, she left with a firm order worth more than a thousand gold nobles over five years. Discreet remarks about the need to consult the Lord Provost, Temple of the Goddess, and (however informally) Rogue had been heard by the right ears, and it was a good day for Master Orman too, as he would transport the lights from New Hope. When she came hotfoot with the news he welcomed her as a colleague in serious enterprise. He had secured multiple orders for webbing and stoneware, and had had many enquiries about petrified mesh, not least from sea captains, leading to discussion of her hope that Mindelan could find a basilisk to go with its spidrens and start a second branch of the Guild to make mesh for the seatrade. He promised to call on her father and Lord Imrah, and send Barin to consult with Anders and Inness; she warned him about increased checks on exports and left him working out how to make sure his business was compliant ahead of time.

            For the rest she and the children spent time with her family, Adie and Orie being in town, and with Daine and Numair as well as Kitten and Kawit. Daine believed herself pregnant again but didn’t want to say anything until she was sure; it meant she certainly wouldn’t be travelling north, and if part of Kel was disappointed at the lost resource she was glad one friend at least would be safe. It didn’t stop her worrying about Numair, a resource she couldn’t forgo, and Daine was concerned too but laughingly intrigued by Kel’s story about food at Lalasa’s wedding and what she thought she’d heard. Her notion that the Goddess might be favouring tricksters rather than Mithros met a more mixed reception: Daine said she found it hard to imagine but conceded the possibility, while Numair was taken by the idea, but after an abstracted half-hour shook his head and said the implications made it hurt.

            Kitten, anxious about her grandsire’s visit, went to burn energy with Kawit and the children, and Kel took the chance to ask Numair if he could identify the poem Dom had mentioned. Her description favoured Neal’s interpretation and left him scratching his head, but he did offer her a few names to try. One being a poet she remembered Neal burbling about in the days before he’d had to confront Yamani aesthetics, she started there in the Palace library and within a couple of hours found what she thought must be the right piece. Reading it carefully she found her body responding and decided Dom had been right. The male speaker was away from home and wanted to be back, walking familiar hills and dells, enjoying in reality sights and scents he dreamed about, and while he didn’t utter one improper word there was definitely an erotic charge that fitted an absent lover and enforced celibacy as the real issue. Once you thought that, landscapes and activities described suddenly became very lewd indeed, recalling things Dom had done that had made her gasp with pleasure and now made her ponder male desire with a fresh sense of its relentless vigour and frequent oddity. Frustration might be clouding her judgement but other pieces didn’t seem to imply hidden meanings of the same kind. Amused and aroused she copied the poem, thinking she might try a calligraphic version for Dom, and went to find some privacy. Who knew poetry had such uses?

            One person she didn’t see was the King, who’d looked at her warily during the Queen’s Ball and subsequently seemed to avoid her, perhaps feeling, as she did, that Imbolc was soon enough. She did find herself quietly accosted by Ettenor, deeply concerned by Roald’s orders, and gave him marks for common sense: with all the ceremonial duties they undertook the First wasn’t a fighting a unit like the Second or Third; he knew it, and was determined, after his mistakes at Tirrsmont, not to err again. There wasn’t time to change fundamentals, and a limit to how much she could explain, but she talked in general terms about what she and Roald hoped to guard against. Once she’d seen the First’s training schedule she ruthlessly stripped inessentials to concentrate on archery. Mentally placing the First along a section of the eastern alure she gave specific ranges to practice and exercises in rate of fire, fire by rotation from a crenel, and endurance. Leaving him no less alarmed but better focused she sought out quartermasters and armourers, often hard-bitten veterans who needed only her flat declaration that she expected the First to see their most serious action since the death of Glaisdan to take her requests seriously. Whatever Ettenor could achieve in the time he had, the First would leave for New Hope armed to the nines and laden with every arrow they could carry besides as many packhorses’ worth as the quartermasters’ combined ingenuity could contrive.

            She also asked them to pass word that if any veteran who could stand and shoot happened to be free to visit New Hope for Imbolc—to congratulate Captain Domitan on his post, say—they’d be welcome as her guests; and of course, travel in a warzone did mean travelling armed. It was a long shot, but as she’d argued to Wyldon and others she thought there were more veterans at loose ends than the army allowed, and the men she was talking to didn’t think it unlikely people would answer her appeal. Besides, she knew of at least one very long shot that had paid off handsomely, and in manning alures every bow would count. The gravity of her request and her clear belief there’d be a real battle galvanised the staff from wintertime routine to something like campaign preparation, and that would help Ettenor sharpen up the First.

              On Longnight eve she took the children to her parents’ house. Adie and Orie were attending a Nond ball with their husbands, but Kel had politely declined and her Mama and Papa had followed suit, glad of the chance to see her more privately. Their shared fears couldn’t be wholly set aside but they all knew the dice were rolling and it was more entertaining to think beyond a winning throw than a losing one. Both the goldsmith and Master Orman had been in touch with her father, who was grateful, amused, and increasingly delighted by the way Kel envisaged the Guild working. She in turn revelled in the chance to pay something back to the Mindelan she loved, however little she’d been there since childhood, and joined with her Mama in enjoyable scheming to icelight Seabeth-and-Seajen. All northern fiefs would need time to recover from war, even if Imbolc ended it, but Kel was prepared for the north to enjoy greater discounts than anywhere except Corus. Immediate need aside, it was a mechanism that over time might serve to erode the gross imbalance of wealth enjoyed by southern fiefs for dubious as well as structural reasons; how migrating capital might pass to Scanra she had no idea, but at least it would be heading in the right direction.

            Nor would increased trade through Mindelan and Frasrlund with Yaman, Carthak, and perhaps Rajmuat hurt, and Kel did, hesitantly, tell her parents about the ideas that had come to her with that highest Yamani mode. Vorgitarl might have things to say about the possibility of recruiting more aggressive spidrens as warriors—harnessing rather than trying to neutralise their conditioning—and her father ought to be diplomatically aware of the letter Shinko would have sent her uncle. When Kel had thought about the concept of armed spidrens carefully she’d found herself juddering as she realised they would most easily use bladed weapons strapped to their legs—a vision uncomfortably close to the killing devices. At the same time her sense of Sakuyo’s laughter had no difficulty supposing he’d find the echo hilarious so long as the octoped samurai were serving his emperor and people. Neither of her parents knew what to say, and she understood the ways of thinking about the gods she was learning by force and circumstance were alien to them; it was a sadness, but they didn’t stand away or suppose her other than herself—they just couldn’t see how pieces now meshed for her.

            Skating over the divine to the practicalities of spidren employment it occurred to her to ask if they ever went to sea. They were far better equipped than mortals for climbing rigging and neither furling nor unfurling sails would be beyond their claws, though sail-ties would need to be redesigned—except that, as Tobe pointed out, webbing would do the job. Both children had been impressed sailing south by work aloft and gleefully imagined spidren sailors, leaving her parents as bemused as amused, but to Kel’s thinking showed excellent discipline, discarding as many ideas as they adopted, and refining those. She thought several points worth pitching to Vorgitarl and saw her father awake to realisation that another fairy-tale absurdity was a serious proposition.

            Walking back they saw a shooting star in the erratic constellation called the Cat and made wishes. What Tobe or Irnai thought of behind closed eyes Kel couldn’t guess; her own desire was simply that New Hope be safe, and the King with it. To ask for her own safety seemed presumptuous even in such whimsy; perhaps she could earn her second life, perhaps it would be temporary—it didn’t matter in the bigger picture, though she pictured Dom alive and well in the aftermath. The star seemed hopeful, and she passed the walk telling stories Alanna and Daine told of meeting the Cat, sitting on the Goddess’s throne and during one of the periods when he was missing from the heavens. They knew better by now than to think anything impossible, but she enjoyed their sceptical looks as she invited them to check with Daine or Kitten.

            They did, of course, and as going to find Daine and Numair on Midwinter morning seemed a tradition worth continuing it didn’t take long. Sarralyn had joined the gathering and Kel was touched to find the sight of Kitten illuminating the petrified model Palace was her favourite entertainment. It had, Kitten said smugly, also been a useful present for her, and proved it by producing a symphony of chirps and clicks that had each finial gleaming rainbow colours and Sarralyn gurgling delight. The showing-off was partly self-distraction from worry about Diamondflame, and the day’s presents helped, as did interrogation by Tobe and Irnai about the Cat, whom Kitten thoughtfully said seemed a friendly, sensible constellation and not in the least annoying. Her mindspeech was audible to all and Kel had to suppress a laugh; _friendly_ and _not annoying_ had not been Alanna’s choice of adjectives for the beloved, astringent feline she’d known as Faithful. The dragonet was pleased with her Ma’s pregnancy but observed wistfully that a dragon brother would have been fun, and as the morning passed it was difficult to see her struggle with fear of disappointment. Numair innocently offered a diversion by asking if she’d found the poem, and her blush led to a half-guarded, half-amused conversation while Daine helped the children stoke themselves with sweet rolls. Numair’s eyes took on a teasing glint.

            “If you’d told me the poem you wanted had two meanings, Kel, and blushed so prettily, I’d have sent you to it straight away. It’s quite famous. Accurate, too, I’d say.”

            She met his eyes defiantly. “I thought so, from the little I know of such things. I’m surprised no-one’s ever written a female version.”

            “Now there’s an enchanting thought. The landscape might get a little more improbable than hillocks, forests, and caves, mind.”

            The thought pulled a laugh from her and she found she could relax into the banter. Before he’d partnered with Daine Numair had had a reputation among court ladies, some said still to carry torches; she’d heard the gossip and paid it little heed, but the man she’d come to know was passionate in many things, and long before she’d had personal knowledge she’d seen the way he looked at Daine and understood she saw intent desire. Yuki’s frankness and Alanna’s bluntness were resources she’d come to appreciate but this kind of earthy wit with a man she liked—loved as a friend—and was at ease with was new. It depended, she realised, on their commitment to others, banishing flirtation, and perhaps wasn’t so unusual, however it had been hidden from her before Dom. Certainly the classes in which uninspiring Mithran priests had dragged pages through classics hadn’t been of much use with the mode of this poem, but her joking suggestion that if they were to teach it they’d garner more attention led to a lamenting counter, that it wasn’t the choice of works that was the problem but priests who could make anything dull and most things seem irrelevant. She didn’t disagree but enjoyed pretending indignation, reminding him she’d been sent registers and could claim priestly status; and was interested in how he would teach classics. His classes in magic for pages without the Gift had always been informative, entertaining, and chaotically disorganised, but without magical theorems or side-effects to distract him his brain seemed more focused, and some things he seemed to think obvious about certain classics weren’t ones she’d ever considered. She resolved to surprise Neal by asking to borrow some books, but conversation was curtailed by the return of the children, and a knock at the door.

            It was a pair of messengers bearing gifts from Roald, Shinko, and Thayet. Many were tokens of affection rather than items of use, but Irnai was delighted with a set of Kmiri leggings and tunic from Thayet, promptly changing, and Tobe pleased by Roald’s thoughtful gift of a knife with the Mindelan arms set in the hilt. Kel was ashamed to find herself surprised by Roald’s care, but her own breath was taken away when she opened the narrow box from Shinko to find a _shukusen_. It wasn’t just her gold-bordered arms on the fan that had her blinking, but its quality: the steel showed rippled damascening, the maker’s mark was of one of the Imperial Armoury’s masters, and the design maximally enabled the fan as an offensive weapon, additional razor-edges along each vane and sprung within the casing. And that casing was marked not with smaller versions of her sigil, as would be customary, but with the lines about Lord Sakuyo easing his lungs. The children were familiar with _shukusen_ and knew how respectfully one had to be treated, but seeing them carefully snap it open she knew they’d also been learning fan-toss and resolved it should become a part of New Hope’s culture. She hung the _shukusen_ on her belt and was wondering how to thank Cricket for such a princely—princessly?—gift when a blurring squawk and banging outer door announced Kitten’s precipitate departure.

            Without a snowstorm Numair had only to glance up to confirm a dragon heading in, and they grabbed coats; Daine carried Sarralyn, who felt the excitement and beamed. Kitten reached the ponies’ field long before them, and had to be called back by Daine from the middle of the pasture. The mild weather would have allowed the ponies to stay out but she’d made sure the field was clear, in case, and it was only a moment before Diamondflame’s easy spiral brought him in to land, vast wings flaring to blast them with air. The high visibility meant anyone outside had seen him—city folk must have been gaping upward—and a crowd was gathering, keeping distance but goggle-eyed as Kitten happily bowed and bounced and was again caught neatly in an enormous paw. Looking around Daine seemed mildly irritated but shrugged, adjusting Sarralyn to see the dragon with eyes gone very round.

            “Can’t be helped. Dragons are fair interesting. But if he’s brought them, Numair, I want to get inside quick.”

            “Alright Magelet. We’d best get talking, then.”

            Following with the children Kel wondered what the problem was, but her own questions weren’t ones she could ask in general hearing so privacy was fine by her. Light gleamed on Diamondflame’s scales.

            _Greetings, Godborn, and Numair Salmalín. This is Sarralyn?_

“Yes.” Daine held the baby so she and the dragon could inspect one another.

            _Welcome to you, Sarralyn Godkin. You join an interesting time._ Sarralyn gurgled, waving an arm, and the huge, angular head turned. _And greetings to you also, Keladry, Tobeis, and Irnai. Basilisk and stormwing words of the Protector of the Small have reached the Dragonlands._

“Good ones, I hope, my Lord.”

            _Very much so. The stormwing eyries rang with news of Amourta’s hatching. But that must wait, not only on my excitable granddaughter. Godborn, I bear your new guests._

            Daine’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful, Diamondflame, but can we make introductions in Kawit’s stable, please? I know it’s a mortal bore but secrecy matters.”

            _Of course. It is in their nature._

            Kawit was waiting outside her stable block, and Diamondflame entered with that same extraordinary magical dilation. Kel and the children, waiting to follow, _saw_ doorway and walls ripple aside to let him pass, though once he was in the building looked as it had before, if stone and timber could suffer from severe indigestion. The expressions of those watching were comical, and when Kel’s eyes met those of a gaping ostler she shrugged eloquently before letting the children tug her forward. Making their way round the coils of Diamondflame’s tail they were in time to see Daine reach his head, handing Sarralyn to Numair.

            “Alright, quickly, please. I _don’t_ want the King to know and he’s bound to be along.”

            Kel had a sense of Diamondflame’s neck rippling before she realised droplets of black fluid—black something—were flowing to the floor where they rolled to Daine, who happily put hands down. The ball unravelled to flow up her arm, vanishing into her pocket. She stood and Kel was close enough to catch her words. “Thank you all. I promise _lots_ of fun but for now, hush. Not a squeak until I say.” Her eyes met Kel’s fiercely. “Not a word, please. And you be careful too, Kitten.”

            _I will, Mama, I promise._

            Even in her happiness at seeing her grandsire Kitten’s mindvoice was earnest, and Kel and the children nodded. The black things were clearly important, and she had every sympathy with keeping them safe from the King’s notice. She and the children found seats on haybales as Kitten launched into an account of her year with appeals to Kawit for confirmation or explanation, and though that included her visit to New Hope the perspective was concerned with young immortals and caves. She did mention the skullroad but only to say tauros skulls were smaller than expected, and by the time the royal family turned up she was on to improved control of the firespell as well as illusion spells Kawit taught her. Diamondflame looked up and the mortals came to their feet.

            _That is good, Skysong, and you will soon show me how hard you have been working. Thank you for your care, Kawit. I will not forget. Greetings, Jonathan and Thayet jian Wilima of Conté, and Roald and Shinkokami, with my thanks for the hospitality of your realm._

            Kel’s mental ear had recovered sufficiently from the astounding richness and depth of Diamondflame’s mindvoice to think there was a dragon blandness in his tone, and a glance at Tobe and Irnai suggested they agreed. The royals had no such advantage, and Kel saw them rock as awareness of the being speaking battered them.

            “You are always welcome, Lord Diamondflame.” The King bowed and his family followed. “We came to pay our respects.”

            That was simply true, Kel realised, and had a moment of sympathy for a king about whose delicately balanced political chessboard an eighty-five-foot dragon could move at will. And however angry with him she might be she knew that by comparison with Maggur or Imajane Rittevon he made a good showing.

            _That is kind of you._

A smile ghosted onto the King’s—no, Jonathan of Conté’s mouth. “Actually it’s only sensible, my Lord. And while I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion with Lady Skysong there are matters I would be glad to discuss in the light of your long wisdom.”

            _Are there? And yet the affairs of the mortal realm are no business of mine, nor of any dragon not dwelling here. Ask if you will, but beware._

            His face was a picture, and in the way all the royals were standing Kel could see the pressure his family had applied. But Jonathan was not a king for nothing, and squared his shoulders. “Nevertheless, my Lord. It is your understanding of the timeway I desire, of course. I recently made a decision my family doesn’t like.” He glanced at Kel with dark eyes. “Nor Lady Keladry. There is a risk I believe warranted. Can you tell me if I am wrong?”

            _Protector, what say you to your king?_

            Caught in dual scrutiny and all too aware of how shallowly ephemeral any mortal must seem to this dragon Kel felt anger with the King flare and die. Suddenly weary she flapped a hand. “Oh sit down, sire, everyone.” Ignoring protocol, she sat herself as he gave her an odd look and found a haybale for himself and Thayet; Roald did the same, sitting next to Shinko. “Right, wrong—it’s not as simple as that. Diamondflame, the roil in the timeway is close, yes?”

            _Closer than it was, Protector._

            “The mortal realms will enter it this year?”

            _Very probably, yes. In immortal terms it is imminent, certainly._

            “I bet. And would I be right to think that in the last few weeks the outcomes still possible have become more extreme? That some—most—of the middle ground has been lost?”

            The dragon’s gaze became intent. _That is very good, Protector. Yes, I believe so. Usually extreme possibilities disappear, but in any roil more may survive longer and that is strongly true of this roil, greater than any for a long time._

“Thank you.” She turned to the King and her gaze wasn’t the coldness of the Council chamber but a weariness that looked through him. “You think you’re gambling, sire. What you actually did was raise the stakes and lengthen the odds. If we win it’ll be better and if we lose worse.” She shrugged. “I could argue for or against. What makes me angry isn’t that you did it or even that you did it without asking those who’ll pay the price, win or lose. A king’s a commander, and all commanders do that. It’s that you’ve again put the least capable in the way of greatest harm and responsibility.” She drew up one leg, wrapping arms round it as she brooded. “I doubt you even thought of it. The army doesn’t see it either. I told Wyldon—one of his companies had mages to hold four killing devices, and five times as many refugees had two hedgewitches against six of them. Now Maggur has only to get his timing right and there’ll be forty regular companies bottled up in Steadfast, Mastiff, and Northwatch while an army comes after two, with only civilians who’ve lost everything and convicts who’ve survived the mines to help. Some of them did something impossible, with the gods’ help, and you said ‘Wonderful, now do it again ten times bigger.’”

            She saw listening mortals wince. Diamondflame cocked his head. _You forget the immortals you have recruited, Protector._

“They’ve helped build walls and defences, but if Maggur keeps coming and the mortals can’t hold him back, neither can they.”

            “Should I be conveniently ill, then?”

            Her gaze returned to Jonathan’s tight face and blue eyes. “I think it’s too late, sire. The Council will still be going. And unless you’re prepared to deny him outright and deal with the treason issue Runnerspring would insist Roald came in your place. Then if New Hope falls they’ll all be dead or taken and you’ll have a victorious army heading south as fast as they can move while most of your own struggle to catch up without much command left. You can call the whole thing off and go back to a waiting game or stand by the throw you’ve made. But I don’t think you can fiddle with it any more.”

            _You are again right, Protector. Extreme possibilities that survive become more likely as other events that must be cleave to them, while the timeway’s force gathers as a river’s when the banks narrow. It is more dangerous but sweeps away greater obstacles._

Jonathan’s face was drawn in concentration. Kel couldn’t tell what Thayet thought but Roald’s worry was plain, and beneath her Yamani mask Cricket was equally concerned as well as astonished—probably at Kel’s lack of protocol. The King looked up, face hawklike.

            “Keladry, I made that decision for good reasons. You know what kind of poison Genlith and others have been, and it needs draining. Whatever you believe I’ve been trying to do that for _years_ without the chance this might be. And this stagnant war _has_ to end—the burden of the army is crippling us, and we’ve _never_ been so diminished in mages, which leaves us vulnerable everywhere. All gods aside, you have been our best hope, _my_ best hope, and the one great gift of the war—and I cannot forget the gods when they endorse you as they have, nor the timeway when you’ve pulled off that stroke with the stormwings. I am sorry for how it seems but I will abide my decision, and come.” He took a breath. “Consulting you now, what can I do to shorten the odds again without diminishing the stakes?”

            Aware of Thayet’s and other gazes Kel thought carefully but there wasn’t really anything new. “Bring as many men with you as you can, sire, especially archers, and make sure they’ve maximum field rations. Most of it’s done already, so don’t interfere with what comes to your notice. New Hope will have as many extra men as we can feed. We’ll have Numair and Harailt, and we’ll have to hope their magecraft with yours is enough for whatever Maggur’s assembled.” Tobe’s hand found her shoulder and she straightened as she put arms around him and Irnai. “I suppose one thing’s a disaster plan. If the worst happens griffins or stormwings might be able to get you out, and maybe a few others. But to where? And suppose treason has been confirmed—what orders will you need to get to whom? All the mages capable of firespeaking over long distances will be in New Hope. Numair, are there enough spellmirrors to make a relay?”

            “There will be, Kel. I can firespeak Daine, but the point’s well taken, Jon. Both of them. I might be able to fly out in hawk shape but I can’t carry anyone. The Stone Tree Nation could, if they’re willing.”

            “They may have other concerns, Numair. I wouldn’t count on it.” Kel looked back at the King and some of the coldness was back in her gaze. “Praying can’t hurt but it won’t change anything. And if we win through to peace, sire, you’d best use it wisely for more than yourself, or even your house and realm. I don’t know what the gods might stand for, but those whose lives you gambled with won’t stand for less than all they win and many are _not_ Tortallan.”

            _More wisdom, Protector. So you are answered, Jonathan of Conté, and whether you are wrong remains your own concern._

            Whether the King though he was answered Kel took leave to doubt, but he had the sense not to argue and with painfully polite thanks withdrew. Thayet went with him and with looks that included anguish and embarrassment Roald and Shinko followed. Before he opened the door Kel saw the King pause, shake himself, and don a mask not Yamani but an equivalent, a cheerful, ebullient projection of mood cloaking whatever might churn beneath. It was a control she could appreciate, however dubious she felt about choices he’d made or might yet make. She heard him greeting the crowd, warm-voiced and confident, but Diamondflame’s tail shut the door and Kel found enormous eyes contemplating her.

            _You are a clearsighted mortal, Keladry, and that elemental knew what it was about. To you I will add two observations—that among the improbable outcomes he has made more likely are some I believe you would yourself risk much to win; and that the risk he has chosen is a more extreme version of those you have already embraced._

            Kawit stirred, speaking for the first time. _I have seen the skullroad at New Hope. The remnants of Chaos acting against tauros nature are yet potent and I have no doubt of the timeway’s doing. You should see it yourself unless Rainbow has strong reason you should not._

            _He too believes I should see it and I will. Protector, am I right to understand you intend to return to New Hope as soon as you may?_

            “I must.”

            _And Tobeis and Irnai go with you, despite the peril?_

            “Oh yes. They want to and believe they should.”

            _I will bear you all there tomorrow, if you can be ready. Hush, Skysong—I will return._

Daine was grinning so Kel _had_ heard right. “You will _bear_ us?”

            _Yes._ The mindvoice was threaded with mild amusement. _You climb onto my back. I shall use the spiral spell. You will need warm clothes._ _I can bring you back to Corus afterwards, if you wish._

            Her mind started working again as she suppressed the idea of being astride Diamondflame when he flew. She knew Daine had done as much during the Immortals’ War and her memory of the mingled wonder and sick terror she’d felt at the thought was vivid. Before Balor’s Needle she couldn’t have hoped to endure it, and now she had no choice.

            “Right. Thank you. I won’t come back, if you can bear the children as well, but if we’re going tomorrow there are things I must do.” Dozens of them, starting with the consideration that while she and the children might be transported adragonback, Alder couldn’t be. And there were thanks she owed she was loath to leave unspoken. “If you’ll excuse us?”

            “Hold on, Kel.” Daine sat up. “Let’s deal with the other thing. Numair, seal this place, please.” Black fire skittered to spread out over doors and roof. “Thanks. Alright, you lot, come on out now.”

            As Kel watched with wide eyes the black drops—blobs—trickled out of Daine’s pockets, dropping to the floor. Kitten didn’t seem surprised but watched intently, and Kel tried to do the same. They weren’t easy to count but there were at least forty and they were alive—quivering and changing shape, extruding little stalks that swelled into heads. The last to drop rolled to a place before Daine and produced a head more quickly than others, with a mouth that produced a faint squeak.

            “Hello. I Trick.”

            Daine smiled. “Hello, Trick. You speak for all?”

            “Today.”

            “Alright. Please all listen carefully.” She pointed. “That’s Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, her son Tobeis, and Irnai of Rathhausak. Kel, children, meet darkings. They’re _very_ useful, and these ones would like some fun.”

            “Funfunfun.” Trick squeaked agreement and was joined by others, They were no longer uniform but exhibiting little distinctions, a streak of colour, fragment of rock, feather, or material. “Dragons boring. All talk. We want doing.”

            _They are impatient beings, Godborn, and perhaps foolish as well as very young, but we will not hold them against their will._

            Trick whirled to bow to Diamondflame. “Fun. Doing. _Helping_.”

            “I hear you. Now listen again.” Daine looked at Kel. “Where they come from doesn’t matter. What does is that they were made as spies and it’s what they do best. What one darking hears or sees, all know. And can communicate, in words and pictures. As you can hear there are limits, but they learn. When I heard this lot might want to leave the Dragonlands I was in two minds—the King knows darkings exist because they helped us during the Immortals War, and he was very disappointed they left afterwards, for the wrong reasons. A spy network that good is a nasty temptation for a king. But they decide for themselves what they do, and I thought they might help where I couldn’t any more.” An apologetic note came into her voice. “Too late for that now. By the time we could get one to Hamrkeng you’re reckoning Maggur will be gone. And I’m afraid they’ll be more critical for Aly than you, if we can get them to her. You don’t need a farflung spy network any more, and she does, as far as Numair and I understand George’s dark hints. But you can use fast communication no magecraft can stop. If you have a darking and so do lookout and corral, Quenuresh and Barzha, maybe, you’ll know what they know as soon as they know it. One might be able to get into an enemy tent and eavesdrop on an attack plan. You have to look out for them—they take risks they needn’t—but I trust you to do that.”

            Kel’s mind spun and stopped. “Um, that all sounds wonderful, Daine, but if the King’s there he’ll notice.”

            “That’s alright. Trick, when that happens, darkings must say that they heard about New Hope in the Divine Realms, volunteered to help, and went there directly. Don’t tell him how or that there are any more of you in the mortal realm.”

            Trick seemed to swell and nodded. “Good trick.” There were squeaks of agreement. “Others with Aly?”

            “Yes. I need some of you to go with Kel to New Hope. We think there’s going to be a big battle there, with mortals, basilisks, ogres, spidrens, and centaurs fighting against King Maggur, and you can help. The others will be in the Copper Isles, helping the _raka_ to a revolution. There are”—Daine counted—“forty- … five of you, so let’s say fifths. Nine of you go with Kel, and thirty-six stay here until we can get you to the Copper Isles. You choose, Trick—just be sure the nine going with Kel understand what they have to say if they meet the King.”

            “Only darkings here. Wanted to help. Went alone.”

            “Exactly. And thank you, Trick, all. I’m sorry we’re rushed, but things seem to be happening fast.”

            “Darkings not sorry. Rush is fun. No rush in Dragonlands.”

            Trick’s head collapsed as it rolled to the others, who clustered round, seeming to meld. Kel shook her head and Daine laughed; she was aware of draconic amusement but the children looked dazed.

            “Darkings. Fun. Or rather, funfunfun. Tell me, Daine, do they know Lord Sakuyo?”

            She got an urchin grin. “I’m not sure. Ask them. But you’ve grasped the principle. _Funfunfun._ ” The grin faded. “But I’ve seen one kill by suffocating and two die for me. Ozorne made them from his blood and stormwing magic as his spies, and they rose against him. Diamondflame’s right they’re young—no darking’s more than a dozen years old and these are younger—but they aren’t simple, or children, and are volunteers.”

            “Full rights.”

            “Yes.”

            “What do they eat or need?”

            “Anything edible you offer them, and things to do.”

            “Fun.”

            “Yes.”

            “Responsibility is fun?”

            “Isn’t it?” Daine’s smile made Kel think of the Black God’s. “They were made of selfishness. What’s that word for Ozorne, Numair?”

            “Egotistical?” Numair glanced up at Kel. “Be glad you never had the pleasure of meeting him. I only saw him briefly as a stormwing but as a mortal he was the vainest and cruellest man I’ve ever known.”

            “He didn’t improve as a stormwing. And they overcame that, Kel, to live free. But what one knows, all know, and they reproduce by splitting. Their desire to help is in their blood from the ones who died for me. And they’ve nothing but their blood.”

            Kel met her eyes. “I understand, Daine. But I must get sorted. Can you tell the ones who are coming about New Hope? The situation, the war, King, Council, treaties, Haven and Blayce, me and gods—anything it might help them to know. The children can stay and chip in.”

            She nodded, as did Numair.

            “We will, Kel.” He looked thoughtful. “And you know, magelet, we should get George to do that for the others. If he knows they’re going to Aly he’ll keep quiet, and could help a lot with things she’ll need.”

            “Yes, alright.”

            _Go, Protector, do what you must. I will await you in the morning._

            Kel stood. “Thank you, my Lord.” A memory drifted into her mind like the echo of a laugh. “Let me leave you with a question. New Hope wouldn’t exist without Skysong, and she is of it as much as any who dwell there. So are the Godborn’s parents. And however it came about, the skullroad is there. Suppose we win through this roil—how then will we stand to the Dragonlands and Skysong’s kin?”

            _I will think on it, Protector. It is a more interesting question than your king asked, and dragons are not unaware of Skysong’s role._

 _That would be hard._ Kawit’s mindvoice was as dry as Kel had ever heard, and Kitten flicked her tail.

            _I only say what is true, Kawit. And I did not know it was important. Kel needed to stick loose rocks together and I had seen Tkaa do that._

_I do not censure. It is the consequences no dragon can ignore._

_Yet it is interesting so much comes from younglings, of all kinds—youngest dragon, stormwing, basilisk, and god are involved. And the eldest spidren as well as Rainbow, you, and I._ Diamondflame seemed to settle though Kel didn’t see him move. _How do your eyes see that, Kawit?_

            Kel left the children to learn what they might while she slipped out, brain churning. She remembered the crowd and appreciated the King’s abilities before slipping on her Yamani mask, adjusting it to an easy smile, and stepping into the sunshine.

 

* * * * *

 

There were so many things to do Kel was sure she’d forgotten half of them. Besides packing, she’d seen Alder and her escort, apologising for interrupting their feast. They would wait a day before heading north, to deliver notes. Alder was unimpressed, grumpily feeling outmatched as a steed, but relieved that he wouldn’t be going to sea again. Brodhelm’s men had been disconcerted but appreciative—she could see them thinking, _It_ is _Lady Kel_ —and comforted by crisp orders. Some notes were thank-yous or farewells, including one to go to the _Dancing Dove_ , but there were letters to Lalasa, the goldsmith, and a lawyer, as well as a request to Master Randall about arrows he might have in stock or be able to make before the First left, and veterans he might know.

            Roald and Shinko she’d been to see, before dinner when she might catch them alone. She wanted to thank Shinko for the _shukusen_ and the prayer it represented, as well as reassuring both however she might. Roald’s position struck her as impossible, and she didn’t envy him telling his father she’d left on dragonback; he would put his weight behind her request for veterans and ensure volunteers had weapons and horses. All that was practical; but Shinko’s oldest friends as well as her father-in-law were going into peril none understood and without them her Tortallan life would be a harder, more threatening proposition. Kel thought Shinko might be pregnant, and like Daine waiting to be sure. She gave her friend a speaking look, and her farewell promised to do all she could not only for Roald’s father but for his children.

            When hunger brought Tobe and Irnai reluctantly back, dazed with dragontalk, she took them to eat with her parents, both easier and tenser than seeing Roald and Shinko. Her father would be coming to New Hope; whether her mother would come or feel she mustn’t Kel wasn’t sure, but the possibility of parting was there as much as greater fears and hopes. Saving practicalities about escorts and how they should be equipped, they didn’t speak of what loomed—there wasn’t any point—but instead of small things and family gossip, until her mother briskly sent them to get what sleep they could.

            There had been more of that for the children than Kel, who took advantage of light in Baird’s study to seek words with him. Returning to her room with the Palace falling quiet she applied herself to one last letter, to the King, that apologised for abrupt departure and anger with him but went on to what she honestly believed the state of the timeway implied about what might happen, and changing values of that _might_. Only the trickster gods were left out—she didn’t think he’d take to Lord Sakuyo’s sense of humour though he must as a commander appreciate irony—and she included her thought about Scanra and the Copper Isles as a pair, Tortall their pivot. She also gave warning she included dragons in the immortals with whom he had authorised her to treat, adding that one pressure she could think of to exert on the timeway was for him to find out if there were any official post, status, rank, anything Kawit would be minded to accept, and if so to offer it with ribbons on. A better lodging than a stable would be a start, considering she’d lived before the Thanic empire and would live long after any present realm passed into history. She folded the letter into a note for Roald, delivered it, and after a last check of what was laid out for the morning, and brief but heartfelt prayers, at last sought her bed.

            They were at Kawit’s stable at dawn, sweating in heavy clothing with crammed packs. A tousle-haired Daine introduced the darkings coming to New Hope: Ebony, Button, Biscuit, Petal, Iron, Seed, Scarlet, Ember, and Shale. Shaking hands wasn’t practical, but Kel, Tobe, and Irnai extended fingers to feel the cool slickness of darking touch before the creatures divided into trios and flowed to coil in thick bands about their throats. The children seemed intrigued but Kel thought it uncomfortable; it did enable tiny heads to extend close to ears and, as Daine observed, would give the darkings a view while flying—an experience they declared fun. Ebony’s squeak in Kel’s ear was peculiar as it explained it would be her darking, Trick having selected it for that role; darkings would take getting used to, but for instantaneous communication Kel would have put up with a lot more than a cool, gripping collar and a squeak. She hugged Daine, murmuring thanks and best wishes for pregnancy, and Daine stooped to hug the children. Kitten too made farewells and, with less bouncing, Kawit, and they followed Diamondflame out, walls rippling aside.

            “Fair useful, that. You should see him do it to the Hall of the Gods.” Daine grinned. “See you on the other side, Kel, whenever we get there.”

            She didn’t say what other side, and if things went ill that when might be a long time coming, but for now there was a dragon to board, somehow. Diamondflame crouched, extending one forepaw.

            _Seat yourselves at the base of my neck, Protector, forward of my wings. You may grasp my crest. I will not let you fall._

            “Thank you, my Lord.”

            It felt all wrong to step onto a living limb, and Kel lifted the children cautiously onto the wide, curving scales above Diamondflame’s claws before glancing up for permission to follow. He sounded amused.

            _You are courteous, Protector, but even in armour I would barely feel your weight. Come, let us be flying._

            Gingerly she pushed herself up, walking as lightly as she could behind Irnai and Tobe. The great shoulder was an awkward scramble, and they had to turn sideways to grip scales surprisingly warm and smooth, closer to sunbaked slate than hide or horn. Diamondflame’s neck was wider at his shoulders than Alder’s barrel and sitting astride felt strange; for the children it was even more awkward, and the only practical arrangement turned out to be with Kel rearmost, and Tobe and Irnai where girth narrowed into neck. She could just hold Tobe’s shoulders, despite his pack, he could hold Irnai the same way, and her ratcheting alarm lessened as Diamondflame eased upright and a force that could only be magic gripped her legs, holding them to the scales.

            _You will not fall, but brace yourselves while I take off. Ready?_

            She wasn’t sure she ever would be but could see the children each had one hand gripping the golden crest, and forced herself to take one of her own from Tobe’s shoulder to do the same. She felt scales shift as great muscles bunched and Diamondflame crouched, seeming to draw himself into compactness for a long second before springing explosively into the air. Kel would have been thrown backwards as surely as a knight popped from the saddle if she hadn’t felt dragon magic hold her upright as Tobe’s pack pressed against her. Vast wings snapped open faster than she could flick a fan, and a blur of downstrokes pushed the ground away. Kel’s stomach lurched, echoes of her old fear flaring, but she could hear Tobe’s jubilant whoop and a tiny voice in her ear.

            “Fun!”

            The wash of indignation and, behind it, resigned amusement got her over panic and Diamondflame’s wingbeats shifted to a slower pattern. Wind grew as speed allowed the dragon to bank in a wide spiral. Kel had to swallow as land circled beneath her but there was fascination in the sprawl of the Palace. The original square stood out, with wings and annexes accumulated over successive reigns delineated by colours of roofing. Rushing air made speech impossible, but she experimentally muttered into her collar and saw tiny heads reach up to Tobe’s and Irnai’s ears. A moment later Ebony’s squeak sounded.

            “Tobe say better than stone model. Clearer. What stone model?”

            The narrative of petrification and Kitten’s love of lighting stone helping her keep breathing as Diamondflame’s spiral carried them over the Temple District and over the Royal Forest. The horizon was expanding, the Olorun aflame in early light, hinterland stretching away. It was the beautiful heart of the realm she loved and whatever the follies of rulers she knew as purely as in her Ordeal she would fight to her last breath as often as the gods allowed that it might stand.

            Wisps of cloud caught her unawares and the fogginess was disconcerting. Forward movement seemed to cease with vision, despite wind and wetness on her face, and resume as land reappeared, with a flaring light she realised must be the sea. After another loop she could see the ocean, and as they swung south a distant haze marking the desert. To the east the Olorun was a gleaming string over wrinkled patchwork. They were rising incredibly fast and the buffeting air was less satisfying to breathe, but as worry swelled the wind was cut off.

            _The spiral spell is at work, and we rise out of the mortal realm. My magic will hold air for you until we descend at New Hope._

            Out of the mortal realm didn’t sound so good to Kel but Daine and Numair had assured her that when the upward spiral topped out in a greyness Diamondflame would tip into a downward one and re-emerge into daylight wherever he wanted to be. It wasn’t as if she had a choice and gripped Tobe’s shoulders as land far below flickered and dissolved.


	24. Security

**Chapter Twenty-Four — Security**

_26 December –31 January_

 

From a mile up New Hope stood out only because of its square. It was in shadow, the fin catching the sun, but amid folded ridges, sprawling woods, and the irregular rivercourse the straight lines of alures and steady curve of corral wall looked unnatural. On either side parallel valleys resembled the crooked furrows that were still the best Kel could manage, and she had a vision of Adner scolding whoever was responsible for such sloppy work. When Diamondflame’s descending spiral allowed she could see Riversedge and the Brown River. After a few passes New Hope grew larger, buildings and the green standing out even in shadow; tiny figures were moving at what must be a run.

            _They have seen us, Protector—your sentries are watchful._ He sounded approving. _When we are lower I can open a speaking spell._

“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t see how with the rushing wind.

            _The darkings you carry hear you and I hear them._

            “Thank you, Ebony. That’s useful.”

            “Helping interesting.”

            “Not fun?”

            “Fun too.”

            The feeling might be a child’s, the capacities weren’t, and seeing figures multiply like ants from a disturbed nest she gave thanks. Diamondflame was liable to worry anyone. “Ebony, would you ask him to circle and connect to someone on the gatehouse roof.”

            “Just speak. I tell.”

            _Of course, Protector._

            She felt their descent ease into a lazy circle. As broken terrain between the cliffs and valley to the east swung below she saw the raw gash of a recent landslip. As it came round again she peered more closely and knew with a sinking heart something would have to be done. She could see the duty commander on the gatehouse and men on the alures.        “The man in the middle of the gatehouse roof.”

            _I see him, Protector. Speak into the ball of light._

            A small sphere lighter than the deep blue of Diamondflame’s scales, appeared, sparking with silver. Kel leaned forward, feeling a prickle of magic. “Brodhelm? Can you hear? If there’s a ball of light speak into it.”

            His voice was shocked but properly pitched, without the whiny effect of mortal speaking spells.   “Lady Kel? Is that you?”

            “Yes, with the children. The dragon is Lord Diamondflame, and he’s going to be landing on the main level.”

            The spell conveyed a huffed laugh. “Right you are, Lady Kel. One clear main level coming up.”

            “Thank you, Brodhelm.” The ball of magic winked out. “Ebony, please ask if we could look at that landslip.”

            _Of course._

            A few wingsweeps dropped them to circle terrain beyond the cliffs, and Kel’s dismay grew. She’d felt safe with griffins to guard the clifftops because getting to them was so hard. The fin grew higher for some way east and even where it dwindled had precipitous sides, while the cliffs on both sides were guarded by steep-sided gullies and crags a skilled climber might manage but no military force. But if the corral remained secure New Hope did not: the landslip had been large, a high, wooded slope shearing away to fill one gully and cover the crag next to it, leaving a long slope broken by tumbled trees uprooted whole and crag tops sticking out like rocks at sea. Climbing might be dangerous and muddy, but the griffins could no longer be relied on to guard it.

            The thought was confirmed as they came round and she saw that three tawny forms had launched from their cave in the cliffs. Diamondflame slowed to let the griffins glide into position alongside. After one look they ignored Kel and the children, concerned only with Diamondflame. Junior was equally fixated on the dragon but squawked surprise when he saw them and veered in. Tobe and Irnai freed hands to wave.

            “You know young griffin?”

            “I do, Ebony. I looked after him before he could fly.”

            “Griffins difficult. Sudden.”

            “These ones are alright. Junior can be a menace, mind.”

            There was a pause. “Menace fun?”

            “Menace bad.” Darking grammar was contagious. “Junior usually thinks it’s fun, though.”

            “Griffins.”

            Her opinion of the darking rose at the wisdom infusing its squeak. Tobe couldn’t have done better in his best old-man voice and Junior’s squawk as he strayed too close and had to flap vigorously brought a smile to her lips. “Ebony, could you and your fellows please slip into pockets? I’ll be telling the mortals and immortals you’ll be with, of course, but I’d rather be cautious at first.”

            “I tell. We hide.”

            “Thank you. You don’t mind?”

            “Secrets fun.”

            Of course they were. She shook her head as Diamondflame spoke.

            _Protector, the griffins are concerned about the landslip. They say they agreed to guard the cliffs so no enemies gain the heights, but now do not know if they can._ As they came over the raw earth again his head dipped alarmingly but magic held them fast. _They have a point._

            Her voice was grim. “Please tell them we’ll do all we can to block the way, and I do not hold them to the letter of the treaty. Whatever they can do will be welcome but they mustn’t endanger themselves or Junior defending what cannot be defended.”

            _Junior?_ His mindvoice sounded amused. _He is the one you raised for a year, they tell me. The Godborn spoke of this. I will tell them, but griffins prefer letter to spirit and will not be happy to fail in their promise. And I am minded to help._

Relief flooded her. “That would be wonderful. But it seems … I don’t know, disrespectful for you to dig and carry.”

            His amusement spiked into a laugh like fire on the wind. _Ah Protector, you_ are _an unusual mortal. I do not mind labour._ His tone became thoughtful. _Rainbow was right. There is no threat to compel intervention, as there was in Uusoae’s bond with Ozorne, yet our interest here is aligned with the gods’. That skullroad bears scrutiny._

            They were too high for Kel to see the skulls but she had no doubt Diamondflame saw whatever he wanted, as he went where he would.

            “As much as you will, my Lord. May I ask if the dragons’ interest being aligned with the gods’ helps to answer my question?”

            His amusement returned. _It is a good question, Protector, and you are right to think beyond uncertainty. If you survive you will be a beacon for many, mortal and immortal. What would you be to the Dragonlands?_

            “I’m not sure.” She thought of Sakuyo, Kitten and Kawit, basilisks; her people between the wealthy south and hungry north. “An ally?” She thought of her father. “Could New Hope be a place of embassy? You’ve considered sending young to the mortal realms because Skysong has grown up so quickly. Perhaps they could come to meet mortals, basilisks, stormwings, and spidrens. Trade magic or lessons or labour.”

            _Perhaps. A single footing in the mortal realm where younglings may study mortal affairs and meet cousins should not be beyond the wit of the Dragonmeet. I will think on it._

            He tipped down and the adult griffins broke away towards the clifftop. She felt Ebony and other darkings slide over the breast of her tunic to its pocket; Tobe’s and Irnai’s passengers also vanished. Diamondflame’s magic again supported her like a jousting saddle as he banked, losing height in a tight spiral before easing out to glide towards New Hope. The main level was clear, alures dense with soldiers and civilians, and she saw those on the inner wall duck as he whooshed overhead. She felt the shock of landing. Wings furled, magic dwindled, and they were down. Kel let out a breath, appreciating the still nearness of ground, and air slapped her back. She ducked, stifling a shout as Junior shot over her, barely missing Diamondflame’s head but turning on a wingtip to land and trot forward with a satisfied squawk.

            “Little monster.”

            Without wind Diamondflame could hear her exasperated mutter and she blushed at his renewed amusement.

            _He is unruly, Protector, but has never seen an adult dragon save Kawit and was very disappointed she does not fly. The young of all kinds cluster here. I will speak with him and the basilisks and stormwings while you arrange what must be done._

“Thank you. I’m sorry—Junior does like dangerous flying, though.”

            _I have never known a griffin collide with anything it did not want to, but I will caution him. Descend now._

            Kel was peripherally aware of Peachblossom and Jump staring from the shelf, basilisks approaching, and the Stone Tree Nation beginning to land on merlons and rooves, but Diamondflame’s leg was extending and she flexed muscles, trying to ease them. Standing was going to hurt. The children seemed to find it easier, and Tobe turned to her, face alight.

            “Wasn’t that wonderful, Ma?”

            “Utterly. Give me a hand up? I think my legs have frozen.”

            “It was scary good, not scary bad.” He held out a hand and she managed to stand, the need to brace him as he swung down forcing orders to her body through cold and cramp. Then she could stoop, gripping the golden crest, and gingerly make her way to the ground. People were coming from the alures, Brodhelm, Mikal, and Uinse trotting down from the gatehouse, and she saw Nari and other sparrows take off from Peachblossom’s mane, but first things first.

            “Children.” She straightened painfully, feeling muscles reluctantly unkink, and turned to bow. “Thank you my Lord, for everything.”

            He didn’t look round from a rapt Junior. _You are welcome, Protector, Tobeis, Irnai. Perhaps we will fly together again sometime._

They left him to Junior’s eager mercies, turning to face the crowd beginning to ring them at a circumspect distance. Sparrows circled in a storm, and Nari landed on her shoulder, peeping uncertainly.

            “Hello, little one.” Painfully she lifted a hand to rub his head, producing a volley of peeps that was probably a warning about consorting with dragons; tension ebbed in the crowd, as if the sparrow’s familiarity confirmed identity. Walking became easier as muscles warmed and she was able to rotate shoulders and neck; her heavy pack could come off, and she let it swing from one hand. Neal and Yuki were before her, with Ryokel, and she managed a smile at the staring baby.

            “Hi, sweeting. All well?”

            “Everything’s fine, Kel.” Neal’s voice was both dry and incredulous. “That doesn’t look like Alder. Did you trade him in?”

            “Of course not, Meathead.” The old name rose to her lips with a smile at his indignant look. “That’s Lord Diamondflame. He wants to see the skullroad and we tagged along. Alder’s following with the escort.”

            Brodhelm caught the end of this.       “Tagged along, Lady Kel? From Corus? Gods, no wonder you look frozen.”

            “We didn’t fly straight. I’ll explain later. You can stand down and tea would be welcome, but we’ve work to do.” She saw Mikal turn to give an order but didn’t pause. “When did that landslip happen?”

            “Four days back, after ten of rain. We looked as best we could from the Eyrie, and I sent a patrol when the weather cleared. It’s bad.”

            “It is, but we have dragon help today. We need an abatis building team—woodsmen, basilisk, and ogres. Teams. Lord Diamondflame says he can get people up there.”

            He was too good an officer to protest. “An _abatis_ , Lady Kel?”

            “To block the slope above that landslip. A really spiky fence. It made sense from the air.” She took a breath. “Consider it a surprise drill. Four abatis teams, soonest. Let me know when they’re assembled. I’m going to change. And eat—we missed breakfast.”

            “Right. Stand down. Four abatis teams.” He turned away, then back. “Um, you might want to say something to everyone.”

            She looked round at silent faces, some fixed on her but most on the vast bulk of Diamondflame. “Oh, right.” Mikal passed her a cup of stewed tea, steaming in the chilly air and she drank gratefully, warmth loosening her throat as tea cleared her mind. Nari took off, daring to perch on Diamondflame’s tail before joining the others overhead.

            “People, there’s no emergency, just things that need doing while opportunity offers. That’s Lord Diamondflame, Skysong’s grandsire, and the most senior dragon apart from Lord Rainbow. He’s a good friend but be polite, eh?” She heard stormwing cackles. “And don’t interrupt him while he’s talking to immortals but if he asks anything, the answer’s yes. All clear?”

            She turned to Brodhelm. “Better? Stand down. Abatis teams. Go.” He went, soldiers scattering at his crisp orders, the crowd rippling around them. Blessing him, she looked at Mikal. “Is there breakfast? If not, can the cooks whip up some.”

            “Is there …” He shook his head. “Lady Kel, I’ve no idea when you left but it’s not an hour after dawn. There’s plenty of breakfast.”

            “Oh. Right. Dragonflight is confusing.” In the greyness time had seemed irrelevant, reminding her of the place she’d met the Black God but the whole day lay ahead. Which was wonderful, but not without food. “We’ll meet you in the messhall. Come on Tobe, Irnai sweeting—let’s get some of these layers off.”

            “Just out of interest, Kel, when _did_ you leave Corus?”

            Neal was trying to be casual and she let Tobe answer.

            “Just after dawn, Sir Nealan. Is it still the day after Midwinter?”

            Neal nodded, eyes wide. “Yes.”

            Tobe looked sage. “I thought so. Dragons are _fast_.”

            She could hear Neal’s mutter as she walked on—“Less than an _hour_ from Corus?”—and agreed it was ridiculous, but before she could explain she needed privacy to adjust her head and deal with darkings. And if she was lucky, to see Dom. Chill as it was and cold as she felt she was beginning to sweat, and her rooms were doubly welcome. With door shut, bags dropped, and layers shed, she sat by a table with the children.

            “Ebony, you and the others can come out now.”

            Rolling darkings emerged from various pockets and slid to the table. Heads popped up and the objects or splashes of colour distinguishing them became visible. What did they need to know or be warned about? Unbuttoning her tunic her mind slipped into gear.

            “Alright, I’m working this out as I go, but the main thing is, I’m sorry, I can’t introduce you today. I didn’t know what was going to happen with Diamondflame and the skullroad and now there’s a landslip to deal with. So, tomorrow. Meantime you need to stay out of sight in here. No-one but the children or me should come in to the sitting-room or bedroom, so you can explore, but my clerk Heliana uses the office. And be careful of weapons—there’s a godmade bow and arrows that are … not alive, but aware, somehow.”

            Ebony bobbed. “We careful. I come? Then all learn as I do.”

            “Um, can you hide so no-one sees you and still learn?”

            “Can _disguise_. What you wear?”

            “My shirt and tunic—this one—and breeches.”

            “Take off tunic. I show.”

            She laid it on the arm of her chair and was startled as Ebony leaped towards the collar. It fastened with a button, not the elaborate ties some nobles preferred, but there was black piping and Ebony elongated further and further, moulding itself to the piping’s curve and matching its texture. Its head reappeared.

            “This good?”

            “Yes, Ebony, that’s excellent. Does it hurt?”

            “No. We take any shape. Like this can talk to ear.”

            “I suppose, but not when anyone else can see or hear today.”

            “Talk when safe. Tell others what I see. All learn, help better.”

            “Sounds good. I’m sorry to be sneaky, but there are complications.”

            “Like king?”

            “Yes, like king. The King.” She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with the effects of dragon and darkings all at once. In the whirling rush she hadn’t thought about the impression she’d make at New Hope—and she had in effect invited a god to dinner again. People would like it once they’d absorbed it, but until they did a new, very disconcerting kind of immortal was best kept back. “People are coping with a dragon. They wouldn’t pay proper attention today.”

            “Not worry. Mortal realm interesting. Much to learn. Fun.”

            The word seemed a universal clincher and Ebony’s head disappeared. She looked at the other darkings. “Alright until tonight?”

            Scarlet was nearest, the little, angular scrap of colour she thought might be a fragment of dragonscale on top of its head as it squeaked.

            “Explore. Not be seen.”

            “And stay in these rooms, please.”

            “Not be seen. Not worry.”

            Darkings flowed from the table to scatter about the room. Kel had visions of Heliana being accosted by a squeak, but darkings were their own creatures, and not trusting them was peculiarly self-defeating. Besides, it was a relief to strip down to one vest and shirt, and remove the leggings under her breeches. By the time she was done the children were ready, and she put on her tunic again, buttoning carefully. With a quiet farewell answered by a faint squeak somewhere they trotted down to the main level. Her sense of morning returned with the familiar scene despite the crowd round Diamondflame and the immortals clustered by his head. Almost at the messhall she heard her name and there was Dom, limping from the green, eyes intent.

            “Lady Kel.”

            “Dom.” She wanted to embrace him ridiculously badly but contented herself gripping his hands and letting her eyes speak as he gripped hers in return. “You’re well?”

            “Yes, but confused. Jacut says you came _on_ the dragon?”

            His voice was plaintive and her heart twisted. “It’s a long story. The dragon is Diamondflame, Kitten’s grandsire. He wants to see the skullroad, he’s going to help with that landslip, and I _have_ to have breakfast. Eat with us?”

            “Gladly. I’ve not eaten myself—there was a dragon alarm.” He shook his head, letting her go. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you?”

            There was mirth and astonishment in his tone now, with something warm that made her conscious of her body, and she felt anxiety lessen. “Probably. It’s hard to argue with a dragon that size.”

            “I imagine.”

            He was laughing as he followed her and the children into the messhall. It was unusually empty because so many were gaping outside, but save for Brodhelm the mortal members of New Hope’s Council were at one table, with Yuki and Ryokel, and between cereal, rolls, and a heaped plate she managed to fill them in half-way sensibly, at least so far as the spiral spell was concerned. The many guests expected for Imbolc could wait a day, but she summoned a meeting of the Council for the morrow, asking Uinse to send to Quenuresh and tell Barzha if she was perched somewhere. Meantime the priority was the landslip and as she described what she’d seen faces tightened—but she didn’t understand the logistics Diamondflame proposed, and regretfully abandoning thirds said she’d go and find out. Outside the crowds seemed barely to have stirred and she raised her voice again.

            “People, we need dragonlengths of space and breakfast is getting cold. Lord Diamondflame is here for the day, I think, so go eat. Then routine, as much as you can. Chop chop.”

            As she made her way through them, captains and knights trailing, she shooed people along. It was as if they were entranced, and once interrupted shook heads and started moving again. Brodhelm saw her coming from a space his soldiers were holding clear by the ranges, where teams including woodworkers and field labourers stood with adult ogres, all bearing a variety of tools—mattocks, axes, adzes, and saws.

            “Lady Kel, I don’t know where we’re getting wood for this abatis, but we can cut, shape, and plant stakes when we do. The basilisks have been with the dragon, so I haven’t spoken to them yet.”

            “Good work. Let’s find out what’s happening.” She approached the circle of immortals, seeing Amourta among them, and bowed. “My Lord, I’m sorry to interrupt, but teams are ready. We’ll need the basilisks’ help, and I’m not sure how you wanted to proceed.”

            _Protector. Var’istaan, Laar’aan, Spiir’aan, and Histu’aan will help, and the griffins will have made preparations. I will lift you now. It might be best if you went also, to reassure the griffins._

            “Of course. But we need to get wood for the abatis, and, um, lift how? Can the basilisks ride your neck as we did?”

            _The griffins will be gathering wood and I will get the rest. I will lift you by magic, Protector—my cousins do not ride well. You will see._

            “Magic, right.”

            The adult males basilisks went to stand with the assembled teams and Diamondflame rose, people edging hastily back.

            “It is all right.” Var’istaan’s whisper was carrying. “Diamondflame will lift us to the top of the cliffs. When you can see what we must do it will be easy to understand.”

            Brodhelm had assigned a guard squad, and Kel approved the caution but modified orders. “While I’m there I’m in charge, but if a basilisk or Lord Diamondflame tells you anything, heed it.” She swallowed, wondering if so much breakfast had been a good idea after all. “My Lord, if you could lift me and the guards first everyone can see it is safe.”

            _Very well, Protector. Prepare yourselves._

            From the startled expressions that had been audible to all, but before she could say anything magic billowed and Kel felt herself squeezed and lifted, as she might grasp Jump. Her stomach lurched as she felt her feet leave the ground and she locked muscles, fighting nausea; by the time she was again aware of her surroundings beyond the sparkling magic she was half-way up the cliff, rising steadily. Hastily she turned her head to contemplate the stone blurring past rather than the void on the other side, and in a moment saw it vanish as she reached the top and arced over to land on the clifftop. She felt herself pressed gently down, as if Diamondflame were making sure of her footing, and the magic vanished. She swallowed again, feeling nausea retreat and blew out a breath.

            “Well, that wasn’t so bad. Everyone alright?”

            They were, however startled, and she looked about, orienting herself. The flat lip of the cliff was bare stone, scoured by wind eddying over the fin; beyond, straggling grass clumped on a gentle slope. Vegetation thickened in hollows but the treeline was fifty feet lower, a quarter-mile away, along the line of crags and interrupted to her right by the landslip. On the slope above it the griffins seemed to be digging, and the dark, crescent line they were tracing was the path the abatis would take. She was about to point it out when the first team, Var’istaan among them, soared over the clifftop. In minutes fifty breathless mortals and quietly amused basilisks and ogres gathered round her.

            “Alright, people, see the line the griffins are marking? That’s the line the abatis has to take, as solid and nasty as we can make.” She frowned. “Lord Diamondflame said they’d have gathered wood”

            “They will fetch trees dislodged in the landslip, Protector. There is no need to cut more when many have fallen already.”

            “Oh. Right. Thank you, Var’istaan. Let’s be doing then.”

            She led the way to the nearer end of the line the griffins had created, a trench scraped in the shallow soil to the rock beneath, higher on the slope than she’d expected. Seeing them approach both griffins had taken off with ringing cries, and were circling above the raw earth of the landslip. They stooped to grasp a treetrunk, one at each end. It took a flurry of wingbeats to free it and when it did leave the earth the strange assemblage rose swiftly before the griffins could direct their flight. The battered, muddy trunk thumped to the ground just above the trench, and the griffins wheeled away for another. Half the bare crown was intact, the rest sheared off, and adzemen and sawyers set to work.

            Mortals pruned trunks—roughcut would do—and chopped ends sharp; ogres set them in place, with a basilisk to soften and reset stone. Petrification could come later. It took a while to get going, and half-a-dozen trees were piled up before the first stripped trunk, twenty feet long, was anchored. Thereafter work found its rhythm, adzemen delivering trunks to ogres as soon as they were ready for another.

            Kel tried to help but her incompetence in carpentry extended to adzework and strong as she was she couldn’t match ogres, so she was left with the guards. Enquiries showed three to be adequate woodmen so they joined the loppers and hewers; she set the rest to exploring the triangle of land defined by fin, clifftop, and crags. It was too bare and windswept to be of practical use, but access was desirable, and thoughts stirred. Looking the other way, from the crag that secured one end of the abatis, she could see down the blind valley to the ridge that carried the trail branching from the Greenwoods road for Giantkiller. Aldoven and his kin laired in the woods between but there was no sign of them; even with most trees bare she could see nothing through dense branches, and with the winter sun making such low arches the fin’s shadow fell over the valley even as noon approached.

            By the time twenty-five trunks were in place she could see the griffins were tiring and would not be able to keep pace. Things clicked in her mind and she headed for the clifftop. She approached the edge cautiously, mindful of the void beyond, but her residual fear of heights was sufficiently exhausted that she could edge forward until she could see Diamondflame stretched across the green. She spoke in a murmur.

            “Ebony, can you still contact Lord Diamondflame?”

            A tiny head brushed her ear, making her shiver. “What say?”

            “Two things. We’re going to need his help getting timber soon—the griffins can’t keep up. And could he ask Brodhelm to get together four carpenters and some heavy timber for a hoist, and lift them up? So we can rig a way of getting up without dragonpower.”

            “Asking.”

            Diamondflame swung his head up. _It will be done, Protector. I will join you shortly._

            “Please thank him, Ebony.”

            “Thanking. He hears. Dragons not so polite. Just do, go.”

            As well they might. “That’s no reason for me to be rude when he’s being so helpful.” Ebony seemed to digest this and she heard Diamondflame’s enquiring _Brodhelm?_ , obviously audible to all as people rippled. Within minutes a group was assembling and baulks of timber being brought. Then she saw them disappear in a cloud of magic that curved to the cliff and went on _rolling_ upwards in a way she hadn’t appreciated from inside, as if a roadway just happened to be vertical.

            She was waiting to greet them and explain what she had in mind. Brodhelm had clearly grasped the point, for as well as timbers and a stout pulley they’d brought the rope she’d ordered in Mindelan, more because she admired ropemaking and had wanted to reward the chandler than with any use in mind. At least four lengths would need splicing, but it was clear the carpenters knew what they were about. The sensible place would be in line with the overhang below the lookout: besides its primary purpose the hoist could serve as a means of escape. She marked the spot she wanted, and had just shown it to the senior carpenter when she saw Diamondflame move. She’d thought he would take off as he had in Corus, but he flowed over the eastern walls, straddling the killing field, forepaws on outer and hindpaws on inner alure, and launched into a lazy glide over the valley and round to the updrafts by the fin.

            Hastily she headed downslope to give him room to land but he didn’t bother, extending the trajectory that brought him over the cliff into a turn that left him hovering over the landslip. The griffins took themselves out of the way, landing on crags. Diamondflame’s wings were still, and Kel realised it must be magic holding him up, not whatever allowed winged creatures to fly; more streamed from his forepaws to set earth churning. The griffins had been picking timber from the surface; now trees from deep within groaned back into daylight, to be briskly banged together. Earth and branches tumbled, and a great bundle of trunks  moved to the line of the abatis and unrolled, each trunk more or less where it needed to be. A second bundle followed, and a third and fourth until the arc needed was complete.

            Even the basilisks had stopped to watch the display and all cheered; a lick of flame around the great dragon’s paws suggested he wasn’t unsatisfied himself. Kel knew all dragons were mages and only a Black Robe might hope to hold against the least of them; it was something else to see such power at work. She didn’t think anything done today would be beyond Numair, but he would have been exhausted—which Diamondflame wasn’t. As the sound of adzes and basilisk spells resumed he slipped sideways to a crag beside the griffins, perched, and cocked his head as if listening. His mindvoice took Kel by surprise.

            _It is a shame Skysong is not here, Protector. She would enjoy this._

            The first sound was a low growl, felt as much as heard, a vibration in her gut that made churned earth shiver; another, higher but still visceral note joined the first and trickles began; with a third, peremptory sound a full slide began. Kel could feel rock quiver as earth roared down to the valley floor, exposing the buried crag. The slope left was far steeper, and with the crag back on duty and the abatis the way was securer than ever, but Diamondflame wasn’t finished and turned attention to the crags. Kitten’s trills and warbles made rocks glow; her grandsire’s version made them crack and explode as magic played, steepening any conceivably way up and closing the top of the re-emptied gully with a sheer face. Stone smashed downslope to squelch into raw earth, sending up circles of mud like water struck by raindrops, and Diamondflame began to range, trimming less extensively but just as spectacularly, until the arc from fin to limestone was an obstacle only mountain goats could surmount. The abatis would be no more than a lock on a high window, but as Kel watched she realised it did serve a purpose, for even goats—and Scanrans who knew the Grimholds and Icewalls knew as much about mountains as anyone—could not pass. If Maggur wanted in this way he’d have to have troops who flew.

            Work had stopped again at this further display, and when it didn’t resume Kel realised her thought had been half-followed. She made her way over to explain there was still a point in getting the job done, her brisk observation that hurroks and their ilk were a great deal harder to come by than men who could imitate goats garnering a laugh and renewed effort. Trees Diamondflame had scavenged were barer poles already, from burial and banging, and work sped up, until a basilisk-and-ogre team having set one in place could simply leapfrog the other three teams and start again immediately. The griffins rejoined the effort, finishing their trench and returning along it, clearing the bedrock more thoroughly. In an hour it was clear that, astonishingly, work would be finished before sunset. Magic was the essential thing but there was a smoothness to the rhythm that was helping—no-one needed telling to stand back as a basilisk roared rock fluid, nor to come forward to guide the base of each trunk home into the rock soup as ogres lifted it. It was enthralling.

            “Beautiful. Like dance.”

            No-one was in hearing distance but Kel tried not to move her lips. “Isn’t it? You know about dancing?”

            “Dragons dance on wind. Say gods dance. Fun.”

            “Yes, it is. And gods do dance, some of them anyway.” Something Daine had said she’d only half-absorbed came into her mind. “Could you show me dragons dancing?”

            “Yes, but private. Spread to show.”

            That made sense. “I’ll look forward to it. It must be amazing.”

            “Beautiful.”

            Looking round she could see the hoist taking shape, and went to offer encouragement. Carpenters were sawing and nailing, one splicing lengths of rope; she admired his deft movements before starting back down the slope. Diamondflame had other ideas, gliding from his crag to land twenty feet in front of her.

            _There is nothing more for me to do here, Protector, until I lift everyone down. And I must see the skullroad._ _Will you come with me?_

            She blinked. “If you wish, my Lord.”

            _It will be easiest to ride, if you can overcome your fear again._

            “You know about that?” She wasn’t surprised—any horse knew if its rider was afraid.

            _I sense it in you, Protector, because you do not fear me, only the experience of height. It is an unusual combination. Your control is very good._ That note of amusement returned to his mindvoice. _You have been dealing with Quenuresh and Barzha Razorwing, so I assumed it was, but it is impressive all the same._

“Don’t all beings do the same when they must, my Lord? Not the stormwings, maybe, as they feed on fear, but I doubt I was more nervous than Quenuresh’s kin when we first met.”

            _Not many mortals would think so, Protector. Come._ He crouched to extend a forepaw as he had at Corus.

            Her eyes sought the senior corporal, and she shouted that she was going with Lord Diamondflame. Whether he caught her words she wasn’t sure but he certainly saw her seat herself again at his neck, one ridge forward, where Tobe had been, for the easier grip. The dragon surged upslope and dropped from cliff, magic gripping her, and despite her stomach there was wild excitement in the swoop that took them over New Hope, so close to the alure she could have reached down to knock off a sentry’s helmet and wasn’t sure Diamondflame’s tail hadn’t. He dipped into a lazy circle that brought him to the upper roadway, landing by the lowest skull. His magic disappeared, but his foreleg did not extend to offer her a way down.

            _The names bestowed were Chargy, Bargy, Horny, Toothy, Dimwit, Flatnose, and Pizzle, yes?_

“That’s right. From the top, so Pizzle’s nearest.”

            His head snaked forward to smell the skulls, and Kel was reminded of Quenuresh; there was something wary in the movement, as one might sniff a pot with unknown contents. Perhaps a lingering taint of Chaos could have the same effect as pepper. His head moved to Flatnose and Dimwit. She felt something like a sigh and he settled, contemplating the skulls; then his foreleg at last extended.

_I am sorry if it pains you, Keladry, but tell me again the story of these tauroses and all that happened with the gods. If you sit on my paw and speak softly none will hear._

It wasn’t a welcome request but there would be neither pity nor prurience in those eyes. She thought he’d meant to sit on the upper side of his paw, legs dangling like a child’s, but he gently tipped her to her feet and rotated the paw, spreading pads and claws. Too full of marvels to wonder at another she hoisted herself up, finding she could lean back against uptilted silver, and began the narrative, untold for a year save to Dom. He listened intently, but wanted precise description of the mage and his mud-brown magic, and made her repeat the Black God’s and Hag’s words. He was interested in what Quenuresh had done and said, and she added that the spidren could speak better for herself.

            _Yes, I will speak with her. But continue with how the stormwings brought you the skulls._

            When she was done she felt purged, as after finally speaking to Alanna and receiving the Goddess’s absolution. It didn’t make sense, but the inhuman intelligence in Diamondflame’s unwavering gaze was compassionate without judging, aware without limit, and yet in some animal way more akin to her than any god, unbelied by human seeming. She was more relaxed than she’d have believed possible, and knew speaking of it from beyond knowledge of Dom—knowledge of herself he had taught—had ended its horror, like grass grown over a grave.

            _Thank you—your tale does not grow less interesting. There is certainly Chaos taint in these skulls, and the shadow of magic that controlled them. The gods should have dealt with all such when Uusoae was banished._ His voice was disapproving and she didn’t disagree. _The timeway rebukes them, in its fashion. So I will heed Rainbow and add a layer to your defences. Stand well back._

            He tipped her to her feet and she climbed to the turn of the roadway where Brodhelm, Mikal, Uinse, and Dom stood. The walls were lined, the gatehouse crowded with spectators, but Kel could hardly object when she had every intention of watching herself.

            “Alright, Lady Kel?”

            “Fine, Brodhelm. He wanted the story of the tauroses.”

            “Ah.” Brodhelm hesitated. “Rough on you.”

            “Not any more.” Her hand brushed Dom’s as she turned to stand between him and Uinse. “Dragons have a concern with skullroads—it’s complicated but he says he’s going to add to our defences.”

            “How?”

            “I’ve no idea.”

            There wasn’t much to see at first save Diamondflame himself, but then he drew himself up like a cat stretching and cupped forepaws round Pizzle. Silver claws extended, touching the skull, air began to shimmer and glow, and Kel realised what she was seeing.

            “He’s feeding it dragonfire.”

            Streamers of flame entered the skull’s eyesockets and mouth, and the dome of the skull began to glow, shading through red, white, and blue to a glittering black. The streamers were replaced by a ball of white mist shot with silver that shrank and vanished, and Pizzle looked unchanged. Shifting slightly Diamondflame reached to Flatnose, and the process began again. With Bargy and Chargy they were close enough to feel the fierce heat of the fire-streamers, and Kel’s eyes flicked along the parapet to see Stanar and other prisoners in prime position, faces wondering. _Eald uhtsceatha, nihtes fleogeth fyre befangen_ —their sagas made better sense today.

            Finishing with the skulls Diamondflame locked extended claws into a giant cage that filled with magic and bent his head to blow into it. When he retracted his claws the magic formed a ball that shrank and began to float toward Kel. _Hold out your hand, Protector._

She did and something solid slapped her palm—a length of warm, blue-black dragonscale with a line across its middle.

            _You will find it bends slightly, so there are two positions—you might call them on and off. Retreat to the gatehouse while I stand clear, and try the other position for as short a time as you can manage. Snap, snap—no slower._

            Kel wasn’t sure everyone had heard but her captains had and climbed to the gatehouse, Dom’s limp evident on the slope. Diamondflame took their place, and she saw he was arching his body to keep it away from the roadway and allowing his tail to hang down the glacis.

            “Now, my Lord?”

            _Yes. I am safe enough._

“Here goes.”

            Grasping the dragonscale she pressed, felt the _snap_ , and pressed back as the world exploded in heat and light. Flame gouted from every skull to form a boiling ribbon of fire above the roadway, writhing sparks before dying. Stones glowed and the air shimmered. She’d involuntarily taken a step back, as had others, and motioning them to stay cautiously went down, heat on her face. The skulls looked innocuous, but there was a slight whitening of eyesockets and mouths. Diamondflame’s voice was for her alone, though she wasn’t sure how she knew.

            _Had any thing or person been there it would burn and melt._

            Wonder and practicality crowded her mind. “As with that other skullroad, my Lord.”

            _Just so. It serves the echo the timeway has produced._

“How much dragonfire do they contain?”

            _Several minutes. Tauros bone cannot hold more although I have reinforced it._ Irony twined in his voice. _No mortal has ever controlled dragonfire, Protector, but Rainbow counselled the time had come and one who has seen the Black God’s face might be trusted. I find it fitting it should be the mortal to whom Weiryn gave sunbird arrows, for fire calls to fire and they as much as basilisks are our kin._

            “I didn’t know that.”

            _Why should you? Those arrows are a remarkable gift, Keladry, for sunbirds are never hunted and moult once in an eon. Weiryn must have sought feathers long. But while such an arrow might guard against even a god, three are of limited use against a mortal army and my fire may serve you in that. I would wish you luck but you have made your own. I hope we meet again. Now I must speak to Quenuresh and Barzha. I will return to lower those who labour on the clifftop. Farewell, Protector, with those you guard._

            He dropped from the glacis, air buffeting her as lazy strokes took him towards Spidren Wood. Stormwings streamed into the air, trailing him, and she trudged to the gatehouse, meeting her captains’ eyes—wide and shocked, with other things in Dom’s.

            “Dragonfire, Kel?”

            “Dragonfire. So this goes with the mageblast keys.” She hefted the scale. “We wouldn’t want to set _that_ off accidentally.”

            “Gods, no.” He smiled crookedly. “Any more wonders today?”

            “I don’t think so, though he’ll be back to get everyone down. The rest of the wonders must wait for tomorrow.”

 

* * * * *

 

The Council meeting could have become ragged with worry but Kel kept things focused. Despite lingering pungency she asked Barzha to hop to a wooden roost, closed the window, and asked Quenuresh to seal the room. The precautions sobered everyone, ebullient from astonishments, and news of the Imbolc meeting sat mortals bolt upright. Kel observed that she expected a great many more people to arrive shortly thereafter, not as guests, and when a white-faced Brodhelm began to say they would be desperately short of men she agreed and began to detail the forces that would be coming. Early morning calls to Vanget and Wyldon had, besides surprising them, confirmed that Alanna had firespoken them and Raoul. Neither shared her gut certainty Maggur would come, but Vanget was cuttingly rude about the King’s decision and needed no persuading that Lord Ferghal should stay away, poised with haMinchi forces, nor that a relieving force was no substitute for men on the alures, so company-sized escorts it would be. With the First that would make five hundred men, more than doubling her trained strength, plus whatever King or Councillors brought as well as any veterans who turned up—the question was how to integrate them.

            That was a military matter though Fanche and Saefas would be needed. Kel wanted Adner to get in as much winter crop as he could, even if earlier meant smaller and less; roots still in the ground wouldn’t be available to New Hope but would be to besiegers. There would be additional food from army sources, but before details could consume them Kel broached her third surprise, letting the darkings roll from her pocket onto the table. Silence was complete as they shyly waved.

            “Meet darkings, people. They’re immortals, they’re volunteers, and they want fun.”

            Neal was fascinated. “I’ve heard stories about them. They helped in the Immortals War but returned to … the Dragonlands, my father said.”

            “They’re back.”

            “I wonder how.” He grinned. “And what one knows, all know?”

            “That’s right.”

            “They’re spies, aren’t they?”

            Ebony expanded its head to squeak more loudly. “Can be spies. Can _communicate_. Like magespell but better. Quicker. Safer.”

            “And there you have it. What they will do is link us, and that’s going to change things. Quenuresh, will you accept Iron? And Queen Barzha, Scarlet?” She’d discussed assignments with the darkings, sorting out which thought what would be most fun. “If Maggur doesn’t come we rethink. But if he does, then besides whatever you do on your own behalves co-ordination would be useful.”

            Quenuresh nodded, voice edged with surprise. “It will be my pleasure. You continue to make life very interesting, Protector, when I thought even you could not surpass your arrival yesterday.”

            “Doesn’t she?” Barzha extended a wing so Scarlet could leap and roll across steel, unperturbed by the sharp feathers. “Dragonfire in one hand, darkings in the other, and a king on either side as the timeway gathers to its roil. Fun will be the least of it, little one.”

            Biscuit went to Brodhelm, Petal to Mikal, Seed to Uinse for use in the Eyrie until action might dictate otherwise, Button to Dom, Shale to Var’istaan, and Ember to Fanche.

            “I want this kept quiet. We can’t be secret, but we can be discreet. To begin with His Majesty, who _does_ know darkings exist, does _not_ know about these darkings and I’d as soon not tempt him with them. Nor anyone—and it is possible to be invisible in plain sight. Ebony?”

            They stared as the darking turned itself into a length of piping before cheerfully popping out its head. “Easy. Any shape. Collar. Ribbon. Necklace.”

            “Those with darkings, work out your favoured disguise and stick to it. Captains, tell your seconds—if anything happens to you in action the darkings will shift. Uinse, you’re going to have to tell those on duty in the Eyrie but make it as few as possible, and they are _not_ to talk about darkings to _anyone_ without permission. Immortals, what you say to your own is your business, but make sure it stays among your own. I know it’ll get out, but it’s an advantage to keep close held as long as possible.”

            Brodhelm frowned. “I’m not arguing, Lady Kel, but are you worried about the _enemy_ knowing?”

            “A bit. Not even darkings know if Maggur knows they exist, but he may have a mage who used to serve Ozorne, so he _might_. And more than one plan for attacking New Hope might assume we wouldn’t be able to react fast to multiple attacks.” She blew out a breath. “It’s also for the darkings’ sake, Brodhelm. There’s more than one person who’d do almost anything for a darking network. Come to that, how would you like army inspectors to have darkings to send ahead? Ask Jacut what he thinks of the Lord Provost having them, or Tirrsmonters how Sir Arnolf would have used such a resource.” There was silence as everyone registered their distaste for that line of thinking. “Exactly. Complications best avoided. And with the Council coming there’ll be some temptable people, I’m afraid. Which brings me to the last thing, because we’ve all been so concerned with defence we’ve forgotten the reason it’s coming. We’re being inspected as a potential fief, and while it should be a formality there’s at least one person who’ll be trying to make sure it isn’t. So on top of everything we have to be decked in our best. A lot falls to Fanche, Saefas, and Zerhalm, I’m afraid—we need to paint, sweep, clean, mend, whatever else anyone can think of. Adner needs to make sure of his records—they’ll be asking about being self-supporting—and the same for Idrius with Guild records, such as they are.”

            “Another slow January, then, Lady Kel?” Saefas grinned as Zerhalm and others laughed. “Ah well, after six whole days of festivities I was getting restless.”

            Kel blinked, realising it was still Midwinter, and they laughed again. “I’d really forgotten. Being carried off adragonback is very distracting.”

            They split into groups to continue, while Kel spoke quietly to Barzha and Quenuresh. Neither would say more of the timeway but Diamondflame’s speculation that the skullroad might be its rebuke to gods intrigued both; Kel didn’t ask them what he’d spoken of to them, but before gliding from the window Barzha remarked he’d been in a better mood than last time she’d seen him. After telling Quenuresh about Vorgitarl and seeing her out it was back to intensive planning.

            When she’d finally waved farewell to Diamondflame, amid exhausted people and immortals, she’d been so tired she’d barely managed to stay awake to eat. In the back of her mind there’d also been the matter of darkings, but in the quiet morning she’d been able to talk to Ebony and discover with relief it was uninterested in what it called mating, and thought the darking way of dividing more efficient. Given that she was glad to secure privacy she didn’t point out the two-being way was probably more fun. Ebony found the fact that her relationship with Dom was secret interesting, but only as behaviour to understand.

            “Not allowed?”

            “It’s not that, Ebony. We’re … entitled. But the people who want to hurt me would want to hurt Dom too.”

            “Who want hurt?”

            That led to explanations she knew would go on for a while. Ebony readily grasped enmity, plotting, and treason, explaining that while it hadn’t been created until after Ozorne’s death it had the full knowledge of its progenitor, who had been of the first darkings. But the personalities, hatred from abstract causes, and sheer complexity of events since Kel had applied for page training made for a lengthy tale and many questions. Ebony hadn’t hesitated, though, in finding hurting by proxy repellent, and was happy to agree mating was her business, so she was able over the course of lunch to murmur ‘Tonight?’ to Dom and receive a glance that made her shiver with its heat.

            The afternoon was taken up with planning but when Fanche and Saefas left to begin organising an early springclean Kel went to tell Adner to start harvesting and identify things in need of doing. There wasn’t much beyond scrubbing and re-painting—New Hope was kept clean in soldierly fashion, and with icelights, stone rooves, shrines, plumbing, and bustling discipline boasted more than many fiefs. Accommodation for the soldiers she was pulling in was another matter: soldiers were used to limited privacy and a siege was a siege, but everyone welcomed space to call their own and Kel wanted to do all she could. Dom’s leg had made her sharply aware that wounded veterans might need a degree of privacy, and with bed-spaces cut directly from rock it was not beyond New Hope’s capacities to sleep several hundred more people in a month’s time than it could today. Petrin was puzzled by her insistence on what could be done in such a short interval, and perhaps the basilisks too; she didn’t know what they might have learned from Diamondflame. When she ignored the question Petrin looked thoughtful and didn’t ask again.

            Dinner was enlivened by a private game of spotting darkings. Midwinter was marvellous cover for gifts and she gave a prize for ingenuity to Fanche, who sported a handsome necklace of glossy black beads, supposedly from Saefas. With Dom she half-expected Button to live up to its name, and scrutinised the buttons of his tunic, distracted by thoughts of undoing them, before spotting thickened ties holding his captain’s badge. As the meal ended she felt the anticipation in the hall rising, and resignedly hauled herself to her feet.

            “Alright, people, you can guess something’s up. I come back _very_ unexpectedly—for me too, I assure you—and call an immediate Council meeting. Unless the winter suddenly decides it’s going to happen we’ll have important visitors before long, and there might be other things. And you all know what I believe will happen here sooner or later? Well, I’m beginning to think you can make that sooner, so Midwinter festivities or no I’m afraid preparations need to step up. Archers and fletchers, you’re going to be especially busy. Fieldworkers too, as Adner will be starting winter harvest early.” There were groans. “Look on it as a precaution. If it’s not needed we’ll all be ahead of ourselves, so you’ll be happy. And if it is needed, you’ll be _very_ happy. Gods know there’s nothing secret about Lord Diamondflame’s visit, but I don’t think we need talk to _anyone_ about anything he did to Chargy and his friends. We know, but the less everyone else knows the better. Think about it—and _don’t_ talk about it.” They were already thinking and shivering with the thought, as Kel would be if she let herself—dragonfire was as frightening as anything she’d ever seen—but she wanted to leave them with a cheerier note. “I’ve also good news. Mindelan’s followed us in making a treaty with spidrens, and they’ll be applying to us for leave to found a second branch of the Guild.” Everyone liked the idea of being national leaders and Idrius understood what the precedent meant, toasting her with a wide smile. “I have an order for icelights from Corus Wardsmen worth a thousand gold nobles over five years.” There was an explosive cheer. She raised her voice. “And for those of you who know an inn in Nipcopper Close, its owner says you’ll be welcome to _one_ drink on him when you next visit.”

            She sat down to a very straight look from Jacut but was collared by Idrius wanting to know the exact terms of the commission. Jacut drifted up as she left the messhall for her rooms, though.

            “You was in Nipcopper Close, Lady Kel?”

            “The Protector was, Jacut. She had business with His Majesty—icelights for Mutt Piddle Lane and her Maids’ shops, mostly, though your name came up. Then we went to Miss Isran’s wedding, and he was on high table, between a Jane Street Dog who teaches one of the self-defence classes and Prince Roald. What d’you think of that?”

            Laughing, she left him looking after her with a dazed expression. If her own world was going to be regularly turned upside down she didn’t mind if others were too, and the conjunction of seating at Lalasa’s wedding would have been all over the lower city as fast as rumour could spread. Then there were Peachblossom, Hoshi, Jump, and the sparrows to see with Tobe, and his day to hear about. He had questions about darkings and what had happened building the abatis; she was trying to describe it when Ebony stretched itself into a thin sheet on which an image appeared, of Diamondflame magicking fallen trees from the earth and trimming crags. The display was so novel she found it as interesting as actually seeing him do it and Tobe was enthralled, filled with curiosity about dragonmagic and the Dragonlands. Those Ebony wouldn’t show, but returning to amorphous form and extruding his head answered in darking fashion, and with a strange feeling Kel left him telling a story about how darkings had met Daine and learned _choosing_. It wasn’t until the night shift came on duty and quiet descended that she heard the uneven tread she was waiting for, and by then was as impatient for Dom as a child for a promised treat. Her eagerness was returned, but after the first kiss he eased back to look at her.

            “Ebony?”

            “Telling Tobe a story. He and Irnai met them when I did.”

            “Ah, right. Will it, um—”

            “No, it won’t.” Her eyes laughed at him. “We had a very strange conversation but it turned out Ebony has no interest in mating, which it thinks a very inefficient way of having children.”

            “It does? What does it know?”

            “Everything. Nothing. I see you don’t have your badge cords either.”

            His face fell. “You spotted them?”

            “Only because I knew to look. I thought it’d be a button Button, but that was too distracting. Let me show you why.”

            Afterwards, lying with her head on his chest and feeling splendid ease, she told him about Mindelan, the _Dancing Dove_ , and Lalasa’s wedding. The limits of what she could properly say about the Council were unclear to her, and however others might abuse confidentiality she had no intention of doing so, but found she could admit having been brisk with the King and didn’t mind telling Dom about asking if the Protector might visit the Rogue, with the interesting colours and silences that ensued. He was, she thought, amused and— _horrified_ would be wrong, but _perturbed_ by the world she was learning to live in, yet at the same time excited by it, or the thought of her in it, acting as she did. She suspected it had to do with her as a woman wielding authority and the lack of anything similar in the kind of women to whom he’d once turned; but as he demonstrated the excitement she stopped thinking about it. They were drifting towards sleep when she heard an interrogatory squeak, and pushed herself up on one elbow.

            “Ebony?”

            She saw the darking roll across the floor, a deeper darkness in the shadow, and slide up on to the bed. “Mating over?”

            Dom looked so indignant she had to stifle a laugh. “For now. Problem?”

            “No problem. Tobe asleep. Show dragons dancing now?”

            Her face lit up. “Oh, can you? I thought of that when you wouldn’t show Tobe the Dragonlands. Is it allowed?”

            “Dragonlands private. See dancing miles away. I show.”

            “Do.” She snuggled next to Dom. “When we were watching the abatis teams yesterday, really humming with the rhythm of work, Ebony said it was beautiful and that dragons dance as beautifully on the wind.”

            Further explanation was unnecessary for the darking expanded itself into a sheet and the picture that formed stole their breaths. The sky might have been anywhere with clear air and a glorious sunset, but the great winged forms that dipped and wheeled, spiralling around one another with consummate grace and loosing streamers of fire that danced with them as light faded, were wholly beyond the mortal realm and followed her into dreams of grace and wonder.

 

* * * * *

 

January passed in a blur of work. The winter was as wet as it was mild and fieldworkers slogged from dawn to dusk in frequent rain to turn claggy soil, half-resenting the divine bounty that ensured a bumper crop in numbers even if size was reduced by early harvesting. That required guards, but when rain allowed Mikal had them practicing archery at specified ranges as well, ten minutes in the hour. Patrolling was restricted and Brodhelm’s men used the ranges assiduously: they had the best swordwork but tended to neglect marksmanship, while for Uinse’s and Dom’s men it was the other way round.

            Still worried about arrows Kel energetically pushed slingwork, thinking sadly of Merric. Stones were combed from fields, and some slabs cast down in excavating the Eyrie steps had shattered; an hour’s roaring work by basilisks produced mounds of fist-sized fragments children lugged up the roadway. As for archery specific ranges were set out, at the distance of alure-to-roadway for precise aim, and at longer ranges for tight grouping of shots. Kel had lengths of rope made up, of fifty, seventy-five, and a hundred yards, and with Uinse holding one end on the outer alure marked those ranges on the ground beyond the moat. Such volleys might not kill but sufficiently tightly grouped could break bones, inflict gashes or bruises serious enough to slow attackers, and break up formations such as men with ladders.

            Several ogre children were interested in slingwork, and one, Ventriaju, had a good eye and—being an ogre—a very serious arm. His longer-range accuracy was only a little better than anyone mortal’s but at shorter range the speed and force of his shots was devastating, timber targets cracked clean across or sent cartwheeling. He was Kuriaju’s nephew, and Kel spent an hour in careful discussion with the ogre leader and his parents before coming to agreement: other ogres would, as previously negotiated, help with labour rather than combat, but smiths would make Ventriaju a helmet and breastplate and he would have a roving assignment, seeking shots worthy of his strength. She had man-shaped targets set up for him beyond the glacis, and after a week he could take off a wooden head at a hundred yards four times out of five, with the fifth usually low rather than missing completely.

            Unasked, Junior found her marking out ranges and dropped a bag of moulted feathers. Some were dusty and soiled, suggesting he’d scoured the nest, but it was still a priceless bonus and Kel offered a smiling bow and salute as he circled. He inscribed a tight loop before flying off to the north; Kel wasn’t sure if it was general goodwill or a griffin apology for having skimmed so close to her head but wasn’t complaining. Nor were the fletchers: she put in as much time as she could find, completing two arrows each night whatever else was on her desk, but it was the army bowyers, Urthor in particular, who worked through the bag, adding dozens of special arrows to the reserves.

            The biggest headache was logistical. Each visiting company would fight best under its own officers and the simplest way was to assign each a stretch of alure. If all three resident and five visiting companies were retained in New Hope, ignoring the corral, a hundred men would have to watch five hundred feet of alure for twelve hours in twenty-four, and during an assault eight hundred men would have to hold two thousand feet. Before they took casualties that might be enough, but escalades wouldn’t be evenly spaced and the attackers needed only one to succeed, so there had to be reserves. Sergeant Connac had that responsibility but Kel reinforced his squads with the best civilian sword- and axemen and—despite raised eyebrows—three squads of women with glaives. How they’d cope with combat was moot, and they had their own doubts, but climbing attackers wouldn’t have polearms and if some did gain the alure a glaive squad might hold them for reinforcements to reach the gap in time. All reserves would be stationed in the north tower and there were simple things to practise—negotiating stairs at maximum speed with glaive in hand, and running the alure with arm and armour.

            Which left the corral, where Dom had the fifty least experienced men and four hundred feet of alure protected only by abatis and moat. Unless Maggur knew about the tunnel it was unlikely he’d try an assault there, but with those numbers any determined two-pronged escalade might succeed. Kel hoped enough squads might come as escorts—her father had had Anders despatch twenty men, ostensibly to escort him to Mindelan after the Council meeting, and she thought Imrah, Terres, Ennor, and Baird would each bring some, while Macayhill, Disart, and Blue Harbour might. Any veterans would be assigned there: Dom’s command should be congenial, sensitive to whatever disabilities they might have, and their experience would be of great value to his green company.

            And distantly there was the possibility of a sally force. After head-scratching discussions bogging in contingency Kel and Brodhelm sliced through to the core: if there was a large besieging force any sally would be late in the day, after the enemy had taken heavy casualties, and New Hope would inevitably take casualties too so who would be available was moot. The force would be made with whoever was available; what could be done was selection of the three hundred best horses and ranking men in order of preference, to be supplemented by enquiry among visiting companies. Sir Voelden, a superior rider who would be among the three hundred unless he was a casualty, took responsibility for drawing up lists and co-ordinating with ostlers and civilians responsible for saddling, and in discussing men’s capacities he and Kel found a new phase of their working relationship. After hard thought about what the parameters might be if a sally did happen Kel also went to see Whitelist. Initially she made her business polite warning she’d reason to believe there would be action soon, and though she gave no details the centaur was aware at some level of immaterial forces gathering to a head. He still had little interest in ties beyond trade, but when she postulated a besieging force agreed that beyond harassment from cover the centaurs would bear in mind the possibility of sallying themselves. Kel went on to speculate about a sally aimed at an encampment north of the fin, observing that centaur archers coming over the stonebridge would be well placed to join the flank of a charge or cover those charging, and he nodded, fingering his bow. The centaurs were rubbing along, not crossing into partnership—and she hadn’t considered entrusting Whitelist with a darking, but the careful discussion laid a basis of possibility.

            Another afternoon was spent with Quenuresh and Aldoven. The presence of darkings lessened the likelihood of needing the spidren mage to enter an enemy camp using concealment spells but predation was another matter. Quenuresh wasn’t keen but Aldoven thought his younger kin would be interested. Even one or two successful night forays might do much to deny the enemy ease and sleep, and besides the perennial attraction of careless sentries targets needn’t be random. It could only be speculative but Kel described the probable makeup of Scanran forces, stressing that if Maggur’s hardcore loyalists were dealt with his coerced and conscripted forces would be unlikely to fight on. In general she wanted the woods on every side to be forbidding places to anyone encamped round New Hope, and webbing daubed on a tree-limb or tent-pole might do much. Gathering deadwood should also be a hazardous activity—let Maggur’s men for once need to guard every step—but there was an issue Kel hoped would arise as a siege progressed. Any mortal entering spidren territory in arms was fair game and few would make it out alive, but deserters willing to surrender, as Stanar and his fellows had, should be able to do it to spidrens. To her surprise Quenuresh and Aldoven found the idea of legitimately taking mortal prisoners amusing, and promised they’d offer terms if it came to it.

            Through it all Ebony was a strange companion, intimate yet alien, and in their nature other darkings became known to her. Kel understood from the first there would be a commander’s temptation to spy on subordinates, and any number of specious, plausible reasons for doing so, but she’d learned to delegate and thrived by trusting people so resisting wasn’t a problem. Yet in gathering reports of how everyone was faring at day’s end she did find Ebony offering supplementary information about this or that problem, usually because there was something darkings hadn’t understood but as it came to know her and her men better also by way of commentary. It seemed equally to like Brodhelm’s bluntness, Mikal’s dryness, and Uinse’s vivid colloquialisms, but subtleties of command that might determine why one erring man received shorter shrift than another eluded them until Kel taught them what to look for. She regarded it as a form of exchange for their help and in an abstract way felt adding to darkings’ formidable collective knowledge was itself worthwhile, sometimes telling Ebony that Trick’s group might find this or that useful. Iron and Scarlet didn’t report anything they weren’t asked to by Quenuresh and Barzha save for one occasion when Ebony relayed, in an impressed squeak, an extraordinary tirade of stormwing cursing when one managed—as far as Kel could make out—to stub a claw. The language was so inventively filthy she went from surprise to a serene, floating soldier’s appreciation, storing away choicer phrases.

            That relay came late at night, lying in Dom’s arms, and he shared her responses. Ebony was scrupulous about respecting mating habits, and Dom took to bringing Button as company, but the two did tend to appear when motion eased into talk. Sometimes they wanted to ask practical things and Kel was always happy to hear Dom tell some story of his military experience underlying a decision he’d made, as he was to hear her do the same. It became a way to share stories about parts of their lives of which the other was ignorant, Kel’s Yamani childhood and his years in the Own before she’d become Raoul’s squire; the presence of small interlocutors squeaking oddly articulated questions came to seem normal. To her surprise and Dom’s initial consternation she found herself unconcerned about modesty before darkings, not bothering to drape herself before sitting up, and sometimes, if the night were wet and raw and sleep didn’t seem close, going to sit with Dom before the fire, a blanket draped round them while they watched some scene. Combined, Ebony and Button could make a sharper image than either alone, and besides dragons dancing there was an astounding education available. Neither had ever seen sunbirds, which did not come to the Dragonlands, but a darking that had travelled in the Divine Realms with Daine and Numair had seen the fiery display. It was as Daine described, the glory of light that poured from the dull-looking birds at the apex of their climbs making Kel gasp; she could lose herself in that image as easily as in dragons on the wind.

            The darkings declined to show gods but had one experience they were willing to relay, of Daine’s parents’ house. Mostly the images were of views from the windows, a glimpse of the Divine Realms that made Kel think of fabulous lands in fairy tales, but sometimes Weiryn or the Green Lady was briefly visible. There was also a vivid image of a darking caught by an amazingly long-haired marmalade cat, fabled Queenclaw; almost as interesting was that after peering at the quivering being held beneath a silver-clawed paw and twitching her whiskers she let it go with a powerful suggestion that it consider carefully who it spied for.

            That Kel filed away to tell Daine, but there were other images she didn’t want to remember even if she was glad to have seen them—Ozorne as a stormwing, possessed of greater malevolence than she’d ever sensed; a swaying rope bridge above an appalling chasm where the darking seeing it appeared to have been on an approaching hurrok and was filled with their rage and hatred; and three appalling creatures, an enormous hyena, a red-eyed rat, and the mangiest cur imaginable, that Ebony said were Slaughter, Malady, and Starvation. The rat and cur Kel could shake from her mind—she’d done everything she could to ensure New Hope had food, no-one since Duke Roger had attempted a magical plague, and she didn’t expect any siege to last long enough for conditions to deteriorate so badly hunger and disease became issues. But the hyena was either the one she’d seen with the Hag or its twin, and she was left wondering about Scything Wheat as well as what defences she’d devised would do to Maggur’s men, willing and unwilling alike, if they attacked.

            Dom shared her visceral reaction but not her understanding, though she tried to explain how it seemed to connect. Amazingly to her he didn’t mind not understanding, and in turn, surprising himself, tried to explain how he felt about the Lady Knight Commander whom potency, circumstance, and gods had partly removed from the circle of the world, and Keladry the woman he delighted to hold. Fumbling with its importance she spoke of her self-understanding as nested spheres, each with its duties and necessities, and found since his injury he’d thought something similar of himself, but with the wounded man at the centre perpetually an ill-fit for everything greater.

            A week after the ides the wagon train of food showed up, not from Steadfast in the usual manner but up the Great North Road from the depot at Queensgrace. With it came the first volunteers—two former corporals, friends who lived in the same village near Corus and had set out almost as soon as they’d had word through the quartermasters’ network. One had lost an eye in the Immortals War but could still shoot fast and straight over shorter distances, the other had taken a shoulder wound that limited mobility in that arm but impaired neither his way with horses nor dexterity with a sword in the other; both were warmly welcomed and shown round with wide eyes. Like everyone, so far as Kel could tell, they’d heard stories about New Hope that ranged from gross exaggeration to outright lunacy, but their reactions to its reality were shaped by hard experience and their gruff praise meant a great deal. They’d left too soon to know of Roald’s willingness to equip volunteers but besides horses and weapons had a surprising amount of new equipment that must have come from army depots and about which Kel was careful not to enquire while congratulating them on preparedness.

            Thereafter men arrived in ones and twos every few days, and on a memorable afternoon a group of twelve ancient veterans of the Tusaine war. All had been contacted by Master Randall; all were bachelors or widowers who had—they said—collectively decided a call to arms was  more important than pottering about on the thin pickings the Crown called a pension. A delighted Dom informed Kel that curiosity about the Protector of the Small and a place where immortals and women trained alongside regulars and convict volunteers had been just as important.

            Kel made a point of introducing all arriving veterans at dinnertimes and honouring their service. All had retraining to undertake but when offduty hours coincided with the schoolday St’aara enticed them to tell stories of wars in which they’d fought. In the determination possessing New Hope as the scope of Kel’s preparations sank in they found themselves popular and respected; and when Kel, through Dom, made it clear their service, however impromptu and whether Scanrans showed up, entitled them to residence in the fief if they wanted, there was a current of interest that promised well: if there was a well to promise.

            The moon was a waning crescent when commanders began to arrive. Vanget brought not only a regular company that prided itself on archery but an assortment of mages and healers—for the experience, he blandly explained. There was nothing bland about his concerns with what Kel planned, and rather than briefing only officers, as he’d expected, she had the company assemble before dinner, by icelight, and after taking them briskly through standing orders and the chain of command they were entering, she laid out her worst case scenario. Their section of the alures was pointed out, as were practice ranges with marked alure-to-roadway distances. Clerks had information sheets for every man and detailed notes for officers; they were also on hand to record answers to her questions about the best two horseback fighters in each squad, and ranking of those men by standards she and Sir Voelden had devised. Then dinner was waiting, delicious as always, in the messhall with gleaming parti-coloured pillars. Sitting with her officers Vanget was warm in his congratulations to all who’d made that briefing and the reality it summarised possible.

            “I’ll tell you frankly I’ve had bad moments thinking about the mess this siege could be, if it happens, and it’s been hard to hold off nagging Lady Kel by spellmirror, one or two nights. But I’ll sleep better tonight. It’s still half-way ridiculous—a minimum concentration of forces with no real plan—but you’ve all done a first-rate job. You got handed the short end of a heavy stick, and you’ve set yourselves as well as anyone could to whack Maggur with it if he shows. It’s noted, and won’t be forgotten.”

            In private, he was equally blunt but less cheery. The Eyrie was too windy and they wound up by the fire in Kel’s sitting room.

            “It’s not half-way ridiculous, Kel, it’s all the way. I grant offering Maggur bait makes sense, and I’d been wondering along those lines, but for the King to use himself and the Council is idiotic. I argued myself blue but he says it’ll expose any treason as a bonus. Expose _him_ , more like.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s got into him.”

            “Mmm.” Kel rose to fetch her tea set, going through the ritual of making as he watched, eyebrows raised. “It’s a Yamani thing but I find it helps me think. This is just me, things I think not things I know.” She poured, passed him a cup, and sipped carefully, feeling the calm the ceremony demanded and imposed. “Lately everything seems to have been circles, events lining up. It’s an effect of the timeway, I think, but you could say the King has circles, and they’ve also lined up.”

            “Oh? Circles how?”

            “Who and what he is, has to be, inside one another. There’s His Majesty outermost, King of the Realm, whose duty is to his people. Then there’s the Jonathan of Conté who’s king and has to hold his throne for his heirs, and inside that the Jonathan who’s husband and father, as any man might be. And innermost the man who looks in the mirror when he’s alone, if that makes sense.”

            “It makes excellent sense.”

            “Well, they all want different things, but that’s what I think has lined up. His Majesty wants peace, and I think that outermost shell wields the Dominion Jewel, which must be hard not to use when you’ve got it. He also thinks he can … there isn’t a word, press the timeway by throwing himself in the scale. Then King Jonathan viscerally hates treason and wants it burned out like a bandits’ nest, and so does Jonathan the husband and father because it threatens his family. And the inmost man is in play somehow because he seems to think I’ll be Roald’s Champion as Alanna is his.”

            Vanget’s look was shrewd. “Lady Knights and necromancers?”

            “I’ve never known what to think of Wyldon’s idea. And I don’t know I will be Roald’s Champion. Shinko’s, maybe, but even that doesn’t fit. Because it’s not about me, it’s Jonathan’s relationship with Alanna.”

            “Huh. That was a tangle. Still is.”

            “So I gather. What fits for me is that when we burned Rathhausak I became a specific target for Maggur, and His Majesty, King Jonathan, and Jonathan of Conté all saw in Runnerspring’s demand an opportunity to stop waiting and act to get what each wanted. They’re not seeing the risk, just rewards, but neither will be what they expect.”

            Kel hadn’t expected that last sentence and wasn’t sure what she meant but Vanget obviously agreed sufficiently not to think it odd.

            “Good analysis, however speculative. You’re young to understand the King that way.”

            “Am I? There’s Keladry of Mindelan, the Lady Knight and Commander, the Protector … and Kel inside it all, wondering how to catch up with the rest of herself.”

            He laughed. “I suppose there must be. Still, does it help us to know His Majesty and the man inside the Crown have both dropped us in it?”

            “Not much.” Her grin was crooked. “But I’ve been assuming Maggur will be coming for New Hope with everything he can spare.”

            “From?”

            “Holding hostages, Hamrkeng, and the forces at Steadfast, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Northwatch for long enough to bleed us down and punch through. So I’d be interested to know how many men you think you’d need to delay any relieving forces for … a week, say. And those being left in charge at the forts might think about how they’d set about beating what you might call an encirclement rather than a siege.”

            She had a similar conversation when Raoul and Wyldon arrived, together, with escort companies—in Raoul’s case the Own’s Third, Wolset grinning among them—as well as the company Alanna had summoned from Frasrlund and two squads of Ennor’s men; her father’s twenty men from Mindelan had fallen in with them on the road and brought a letter from Anders and Inness with prayers for her safety. With another three-hundred-and-forty men New Hope was crowded, those coming off duty taking the beds of those going on and bedrolls spread in every barn, but Petrin’s miners and the basilisks were still creating new spaces in the limestone, and novelty as well as the evident effort being made mollified grumbling. Kel’s crisp introduction and plans were equally approved by her lords of Goldenlake and Cavall, the King’s decision equally deplored, and her speculations about Maggur’s strategy mulled with scepticism.

            Seeing Wolset it crossed her mind to assign that squad to the corral but after an evening spent catching up with his old comrades Dom declined her offer. Besides not wanting to be the cause of a single exception in assignments of visiting companies to the alure, he felt their presence might be more disruptive than useful. Kel’s problem was the opposite, old commanders looking over her shoulder, but Vanget was scrupulous in maintaining the line that he and the others were there as Councillors rather than her superiors, and mutual respect made it easier than it might have been.

            Two days before the end of the month startled word came from Steadfast and Mastiff that owls had rung the bells on the gatehouses. Maggur’s men were moving in numbers, but they had no way of knowing how many or where—or so they unhappily thought until Kel, after some private murmuring to her collar, told them the Stone Tree Nation would investigate. “It’ll take a while—stormwings aren’t fast, they can’t use the spiral spell, and if this cloud extends that far they’ll have to fly lower and longer to cover the ground.”

            Vanget opened his mouth like a fish and Wyldon gave him a sympathetic look. “I know. Keladry, you’ve stormwings _scouting_ for you?”

            “They’d only agreed to short-range stuff but I think Barzha’s impatient.”

            Raoul laughed. “Only you, Kel. The spiral spell’s what Diamondflame used to get you here? Corus in an hour?”

            “Yes. _He_ could tell us by tonight what was where, but it’ll take the stormwings several days, I’m afraid.”

            Barzha’s report would arrive by darking as and when she found anything, but that was another matter. The alert had the commanders worriedly speculating but Vanget couldn’t strip more men from any fort until he knew how many Scanrans were where—losing an undermanned Steadfast or Mastiff with whatever rump garrison had been left would help no-one except Maggur. Kel left them to it, made sure via Ebony that Quenuresh was informed, and got on with drills, though she did order sally horses transferred to the corral; and the startlement of her visitors at the way Peachblossom and Alder marshalled them without fuss through the tunnel was a gratification.

            It was surprisingly early next afternoon, the eve of Imbolc, that the horn blew from the Eyrie and Ebony informed her a large party had turned into the valley from the Great North Road. Hastening up the steps Kel didn’t give a thought to the horrid drop beyond the railings, and a brief survey through her spyglass confirmed the presence of the First, unmistakable in gleaming armour, and besides the group of nobles at least another hundred armed men whose motley equipment spoke of personal escorts and veteran volunteers. Some quick words to Ebony as she started down again confirmed to all with darkings this was the King and Council, who must have left Bearsford _very_ early or camped on the road, and others could now know the final guests’ identity—news that even before she reached the gatehouse was spreading like wildfire.

            Kel had thought about ceremony but compromise was necessary.  Welcomes aside, there were the First and other troops to brief, and for all her insistence on a thorough spring cleaning she was more interested in presenting an efficient strongpoint than a sophisticated fief-to-be; but a king was a king, and by the time the First reached the bridge and swung directly towards New Hope Uinse’s men—a pointed choice—were formed up as an honour guard. One of her hasty notes in Corus had been to Ettenor, mentioning the Honesty Gate and asking him to discuss it with the King, and her precaution bore fruit when the First halted at the moatbridge and stepped aside to let the noble party through, Jonathan and Alanna at their head. They mounted the roadway side by side, Councillors behind; those coming for the first time were peering up the glacis with interesting expressions, not least Runnerspring’s, and some quite different startlement as they saw Pizzle and his fellows staring blankly across the valley. Kel and her captains waited at the turn of the roadway, and their presence with the narrow rise beyond made it a natural point to dismount. Kel’s allies promptly followed suit, leaving others little choice but to do likewise, and after formal greeting she gave her practiced speech about the Gate. Jonathan gravely accepted her welcome, offering congratulations on the inverted Scanran standards on the wall, which he hadn’t seen in the elemental’s vision, and she fell in beside him up the last stretch, Alanna behind. Her captains stayed at the turn, in courtesy and in case anyone needed a steadying hand; she’d named no names but Turomot was past eighty and Nond no younger. Squarely under the lintel Jonathan of Conté declared his name and desire that no harm befall any at New Hope, and the first of Kel’s tests was set in motion. Having visited before, Alanna, Numair, Harailt, her father, and Terres might have been waved through but unhesitatingly made declarations, and moved only slowly through the barbican, waiting on others behind. All was smooth until Kel heard what she’d been half-waiting for—a challenge from Jacut, duty commander of the gatehouse while Uinse was outside.

            “You haven’t completed your declaration, my Lord.”

            It was of course Runnerspring, and Kel looked at him coolly, the King at her shoulder and the others turning back with frowns.

            “It’s simple, my Lord. As well as declaring your name you say that you intend no harm to any at New Hope.”

            “I did.”

            His voice was trying for angry but to Kel sounded fearful and she glanced at Jacut with a raised eyebrow.

            “He spoke his name, Lady Kel, as Lord Carolan of Runnerspring, then mumbled something I couldn’t hear.”

            “Perhaps you’d repeat yourself more clearly, my Lord. As you have heard all others do, including His Majesty.”

            “Come on, Runnerspring.” Nond behind him was impatient. “Don’t want to be hanging about.”

            Trapped, Lord Carolan glared at her. “I intend n—, n—”

            His voice ground but no words came. As the failure registered Kel’s voice hardened. “I mean no harm to any at New Hope. It’s not difficult, my Lord. Providing it’s true.”

            “Well, of course it’s t—, t—”

            “It doesn’t sound it. Speak the words, my Lord, or I must infer you _do_ mean harm to someone here.” There was ugly silence around Carolan’s guttural attempts to speak. “What an interesting situation.” Kel’s voice was cool. “Legally, I cannot deny a King’s Councillor entry. Practically, I must assume your hostile intent, and I have an overriding duty of care to all under my command. So let’s try this, my Lord—do you intend harm to anyone now at New Hope, or about to enter it, except me?”

            He tried hard but the griffin magic forbade his ‘no’, and Kel turned to the King. “Your Majesty, under the circumstances I must ask you to forgive three insults to your Councillor. He will be disarmed, guarded at all times within New Hope, and his bags searched.”

            “You bitch!”

            Runnerspring’s voice was cracked and part of Kel’s mind wondered how the Honesty Gate judged the truth of his shout as she watched faces darken. She heard arrows nock and beat the King by a second.

            “Hold.”

            “And hold your tongue, my Lord. All else aside, we are the visitors, and Lady Keladry commands. I take no insult from her wise precautions and neither will you.”

            “Your sword, my Lord, and any weapon you bear—carefully, if I were you. The last person who drew on me in this barbican is buried at Haven.” He hated it but surrendered his sword, and Jacut patted him down, removing a belt knife and boot dagger. Memory tugged at Kel. “Jacut, assign two men to watch Lord Carolan until we can organise proper shifts, and have his baggage stacked in the squadroom until it can be searched. Meantime”—her eyes found the black robe behind Nond—“Numair, will your bracelet detect a sleeping drug as well as a poison?”

            He frowned. “I think so, Kel. They’re poisons too, just not fatal.”

            “What are you doing?” Runnerspring was sweating.

            “Being cautious, my Lord.” She extended her left hand towards him, without result; then moved to his horse, holding her wrist close to each pannier. The first seemed harmless but by the second green flared, and her voice became cold. “What drug do you have in here, my Lord?”

            “I don—”

            “What you don’t, my Lord, is learn. Under this lintel you cannot lie. What drug is here?”

            He said nothing, glaring as sweat trickled down his face.

            “Hold him, Jacut.”

            “You dare!”

            “I dare much to keep my people safe, my Lord.” She lifted the pannier, set it down, and squatted. Beside a sheaf of papers, bag of coin, and rolled cloak was a fat vial of brown liquid, wrapped in cloth, and she carefully lifted it out. “Numair, can you identify this?”

            He came forward, took the flask, and cautiously worked out the stopper. His nose wrinkled. “Dreamrose—a tincture.” He restoppered it and held it to the light, shaking gently. “Very strong, and quite fresh.”

            Kel looked at Runnerspring, voice carefully neutral but still cold. Underneath it rage pulsed. “Why do you need dreamrose, my Lord, in such a form?”

            “I don’t sleep well.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

            Even without the Honesty Gate Kel would have bet that was true. “Numair?”

            “It’s far too strong for personal use. Properly diluted, one drop of this would make pills for a week. Undiluted, three would kill.”

            “Why do you have it, Runnerspring?” Nond had come forward, his wrinkled face genuinely puzzled. “I’ve used that stuff to sleep too, and Numair’s right—no-one carries it in that form.”

            “Unless you purpose is to render many people unconscious, my Lord. Or dead.” She’d done as much herself once, on the Smiskir Road. “In any case, Lord Carolan plainly cannot honestly say he intends no harm, and had to hand a means of causing it for which innocent explanation is hard to imagine.” She spoke with flat authority. “Lord Carolan, you bring grave suspicion on yourself and New Hope is on the front line. We take no needless risk. You may enter here, as is right while you remain a Councillor of His Majesty, but you are _not_ at liberty. Jacut, His Lordship will be confined to his room, door guarded, save for designated sessions of the Council. There will also be a formal inspection, I imagine, and that will be authorised, but otherwise he goes nowhere. Serve him meals in his room, which we will make the first set of rooms in the cave.”

            It wasn’t the cell but it had only one door and no windows, and Jacut’s eyes flashed appreciation. “Lady Kel.”

            “You cannot imprison me!”

            “Yes she can, my Lord, and with Our consent” The King’s voice was mild but his eyes weren’t. “You have a great deal of explaining to do.”

            “Carry on please, Jacut.”

            They marched him away, bitterly silent and, Kel thought, badly frightened. Everyone was disturbed, uneasily murmuring as she eased the queue into movement again, welcoming Nond and hearing his declaration before rejoining the King, who gave a tight smile but said nothing. With the last Councillors in she could lead the shaken procession to where her own council waited, with Vanget, Wyldon, and Raoul. Despite what had happened she enjoyed introducing her King and the other great nobles to Fanche, Saefas, Var’istaan, and Kuriaju. She also enjoyed apologising for the absence of Quenuresh and Her Majesty Queen Barzha Razorwing of the Stone Tree Nation, her face a great deal blander than most guests’, though Imrah gave her a wink. The bustling vista of shelf, main level, and terrace beyond was a satisfactory diversion, and she was naming buildings when a guard cried out.

            “Lady Kel—on the gatehouse.”

            Turning, she saw the hawk land on a merlon. For a second a fierce golden eye stared at her, then the bird hopped forward, carefully grasped the chain dangling from the clapper of the warning bell, and with a flick of its head rang it sharply twice.


	25. Governance

**Part VII – Imbolc**

_1 – 14 February 463 HE_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Twenty-Five — Governance**

_1 – 8 February_

 

“What you _should_ do, sire, is get south at a gallop. Something—probably you—has triggered Maggur’s army into movement, and thanks to the Wildmage we’ve enough warning for you to get out. But as you’ve no intention of doing so there isn’t much we can do but wait until Scanran forces cross the Vassa and we’ve a clearer idea where they’re going.”

            Vanget’s voice was a growl and Kel knew if there were space he’d be pacing. She should have felt the same way but found herself possessed by calm, not quite Lord Sakuyo’s peace but touched with it. Irnai’s prophecy had sunk in bone deep, and she’d been waiting ever since, convinced the war would come decisively to the Greenwoods and New Hope would be on the line; the addition of king and council to the stakes, however foolishly, had limited meaning because she could not be more committed to protecting all at risk.

            It was almost dawn and they were crammed into her office. She could have taken them to the conference room, where the Council would assemble, but with a table it would have been Jonathan on one side facing his commanders on the other; cramped before her desk they necessarily formed a circle and however authority crackled it was less absolute than it might have been. The King was expending his in resistance; to assert himself would require a shift in mode he probably would have made in Corus, but not here, against a rightly exasperated haMinchi general and not in her domain. Kel had begun by relaying what Barzha and Hebakh had found—a force of at least two thousand well-equipped infantry heading slowly for a Vassa crossing mid-way between Steadfast and Mastiff. Trailsign indicated a further force had continued east when this group split off—a substantially larger army, Barzha guessed but couldn’t affirm, that included cavalry and wagons. At Kel’s request stormwings were following the trailsign, but low cloud extended far north so they had to fly under it to follow the road and it might be days before any further report.

            Vanget, coming from the spellmirror despite the hour, had been able to add that an owl had rung the bell at Northwatch, and there had been probing attacks into haMinchi lands that had Lord Ferghal doubting how many men he could afford to detach. He had set to arguing probable intentions with no agreement save a common conviction the King should shift his royalness south, but waves of pressure had broken on Jonathan’s stubborn refusal to go. Now Kel thought it was time to end it.

            “Actually, Vanget, I think we do know what they’re doing, though you’re not going to like my reasoning.”

            He scowled at the King. “Don’t like anything much today, Kel. Go on.”

            “You were all analysing Scanran forces functionally—why infantry in the west and so on. I’ve been thinking about other internal differences and Barzha said those infantry were regulars, so far as she could tell. And she wasn’t going on equipment or the way they made camp—it was minds. I asked her what they were like by comparison with Stenmun’s men, and she said there was none.”

            Wyldon blinked. “You asked her to read their _minds?_ ”

            “Emotions. Stormwings don’t mindspeak or do as the elemental does, but they feed on emotions—all emotions. They prefer fear and terror but sense them all, just as we see all food, not just food we like.”

            “Hang on, Kel.” Raoul was frowning. “You _asked_ her? How?”

            “Stormwing magic, relaying to one still here.” Kel didn’t like lying, especially to Raoul, but didn’t want to bring darkings into it yet. She could tell Alanna guessed the truth—she must have known about Trick meeting George—but didn’t say anything. “The point is that where Stenmun’s lot were dark, fierce, and empty—Barzha’s words—most of these men were just soldiers. _Most_ , not all—the command group was Stenmun-like, wanting to fight and kill. The rest were under orders. So I think we’re talking about coerced forces—men like Stanar who’ve been ordered to fight by clanchiefs, and will, but have no heart for it—under loyalist command. And there are enough to tie down our forces at both forts, which is what I expected.”

            “It is?”

            “It’s what I’d do in Maggur’s shoes if I really wanted New Hope. He knows we’ll bleed him before we fall, so he’s going to have to sacrifice a lot of men. He doesn’t want to expend loyalists, because he’ll need them afterwards, and he has a problem using coerced troops that way—they’re not green, know exactly what being in the first waves will mean, and his hold over them is hostages, which buy him service, not willing suicide. So he’ll have to use conscripts and whatever magepower he’s got to draw our teeth, and then send his hard men to take our last shots and keep coming. Meantime the coerced forces prevent relief—it’ll be more of them at Northwatch and the haMinchi lands, and their job is delay, not attack. The ones Barzha’s tracking have the loyalists, whatever’s in those wagons, and the conscripts, and they’re heading here.” She smiled faintly. “What will you bet that when Barzha finds that other force it’s at least five thousand strong, with mages and immortals—giants, maybe others—and heading south on the Smiskir road? No takers? The western infantry are a detachment going slowly so they won’t arrive ahead of time. They won’t do much attacking. Being there’s enough.”

            “Small comfort.” Vanget was still growling. “It makes sense, I grant, Kel, but it’s still speculation.”

            “So let’s test it. Ask Lord Ferghal to scout hard and push back sharply. How many troops are harassing him? With two thousand confirmed in the west, any confirmation of five thousand or more on the Smiskir road will mean there _can’t_ be many as far east as haMinchi lands. So we’ll know it’s a diversion, and if I’m right that the bulk of them are coming here he’ll be able to send a large enough force to relieve Northwatch and come on to us.”

            While Vanget was thinking about it Kel looked at the King. “Sire, I notice you haven’t mentioned the forces coming from the eastern borders. How many and where are they?”

            He grimaced. “Fewer and farther than I’d intended by now, Lady Keladry. There seem to have been severe delays.”

            “In no state to march at speed delays? Or mysteriously broken bridges delays?”

            His gaze sharpened. “Both, I’m afraid. You expected that too? I made sure Runnerspring didn’t know about those orders.”

            “Word might have leaked, but it wouldn’t have had to once Maggur knew you were coming. He’s doing or dying, and however vile he’s not a fool. If he wins here he’ll be heading south so he’ll have planned to block or slow the eastern border forces. And they’ve dealt with little more than bandits for a decade so it’s no wonder they can’t pack up and march at the speed you hoped. Frankly, sire, it’s the same mistake you once made with the Own’s First.” Her tone was thoughtful but there was a nasty silence. “We just have to make sure it doesn’t have the same results, and we need to be about it. They’ll all be waiting by now.”

            “Who’ll be waiting, Kel?” Raoul fed her the line, voice ironic.

            “Everyone. It’s Imbolc morning, and I’m not going to begin slighting the gods now. The Councillors were woken a half-hour back and we’re expected. After that there’s a would-be fief to inspect, in the first place physically—Turomot looked up procedure for me and we shan’t be skimping. But gods come first.”

            The King might have objected but Alanna steered him out, and the others let Kel herd them after; she could tell Wyldon was suppressing a smile and Raoul wasn’t bothering to, though Vanget was still fretting. The scene outside sobered them all, for everyone was assembled save skeleton watches, with the best part of nine companies drawn up as well as more than a hundred other soldiers, escorts and veterans; civilians and immortals massed round them—but it wasn’t just the sight that impressed, or even the Stone Tree Nation on the roofs despite Barzha’s and Hebakh’s absence. New Hopers had, understandably, come to take the gods’ propitiation earnestly, and the combination of blunt belief and imminent action had pervaded visiting companies. The scale and nature of New Hope, the presence of immortals as well as stories of visiting dragons and griffins, had worked on them, and the arrival of the King-in-Council followed by assembly with massed immortals had tipped them into a different mode; there was a mix of expectation, excitement, dread, and resolution rising from the crowd that visibly hit the King and slapped Vanget from his preoccupation. Only Kel was unaffected and slipped through as they paused, not quite voluntarily, to take Alanna’s place and steer Jonathan forward herself.

            Imbolc was the ewes’ milk festival, first sign of imminent spring lambs, and the sacrifice was eight tiny glasses the shepherds had coaxed from bleating mothers-to-be. Three stood with Adner and the senior cowherd, pigherd, poulterer, and seedman. Yamani custom dictated nursing women should add a sacrifice of milk, and Yuki had been determined to do so; nursing Tortallan women decided they liked the idea, and all were with Yuki on the terrace. Numbers were awkward, but as well as the glasses of individual milk each bore, Yuki and Ma Stockman carried second glasses and Kel would pour a seventh, larger glass for Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady that had been jointly filled. It had been a peculiar process but for Kel moving, confronting her with her desire to nurse a child in peace.

            The Councillors were grouped to the left of the shrines, and Kel saw degrees of wonder on all faces, even Runnerspring’s. He stood apart, flanked by guards, and scowled at her, but habitual disapproval didn’t conceal his apprehension as he felt the force of the crowd and their reaction to her appearance. Others were openly staring, trying to take in what was happening, and Turomot had an expression that struck her instantly as fierce approval though she didn’t know of what. Only those who’d stood at New Hope’s shrines before—her father, Baird, and Terres—were unsurprised and composed in piety.

            “Will you join your Councillors, sire? And you your fellows, my Lords, my Lady?”

            “Of course, Lady Keladry.” Jonathan of Conté looked at her through the shell of his kingship. “Have I any part to play?”

            “Only to give thanks and pray, sire, unless you wish to speak.”

            “Do you think I should?”

            She gauged words. “I believe you would be better advised to learn New Hope’s temper first, sire. The time for you to speak is not come.”

            “As you will, my Lady.”

            She doubted his complaisance would last but welcomed it and escorted him to the forefront of the guests, then strode to the centre before the shrines, calling Tobe and Irnai from where they’d been waiting with the immortals. What children represented mattered more than anything today and she meant to keep it that simple.

            “New Hope, and all who have come here in our need, we stand at a turning-point. Samhain is the festival of the dead, when we look back, honouring what has been. Imbolc is the festival of the unborn, and we look forward, honouring what will be.” She drew the children close. “We face a battle and have fears, but today we look beyond them with hope, to the world the lambs and our children will know, and even in our fear pray not for ourselves but for them. The Goddess, Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady, all the gods, have given us great bounty, and we thank them for it, asking it may continue for all the young of New Hope.”

            She and the children went to stand with the shepherd who would give ewe’s milk to the Goddess, smiling reassurance at his nervousness. As he poured out the little glassful they bowed, hands on hearts, sensing everyone move with them, king or convict; chimes rang. Once the sound faded they went silently to Adner, standing before Lord Mithros’s shrine, and to the others as the ceremony was repeated. When the senior poulterer, a greying woman from Goatstrack whom hens actually seemed to obey in some measure, and the seedman had poured together for Weiryn and the Green Lady, Kel motioned the nursing mothers forward. She received the glass she needed for herself from Ma Stonecutter and knelt, setting it carefully down and spreading her arms.

            “High Ones, none can tell what will come to pass on the timeway. We know not all can survive but have done all we can to prepare, and believe we serve you as you would be served. I do not ask today for my safety, nor that of any adult—we make the troubles of the mortal realm and must abide them—but I do ask you all, by mothers’ milk and all we have endured, to guard our children whatever may befall.”

            She gathered the glass, rose, and went forward with all the women. At the ends of the line Yuki touched milk to Lord Sakuyo’s lips before pouring for him, then the Black God, and Ma Stockman poured for Lords Shakith and Gainel, while Ma Farmer and Ma Stonecutter poured for Lord Mithros and the Goddess. Each did so in a silence that grew deeper by the second, but when Kel poured for Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady, thinking of their joy in daughter and granddaughter, their shrines blazed with silver that did not blind her and all the great gods’ voices sounded in a brief, deafening burst of sound within which each was yet distinct—battlecry and hounds, far hawks, soughing wind, and twining laughter. The release of tension was palpable and spread to the visiting troops and astonished veterans standing with Dom’s company as the nursing mothers returned to husbands and babies. Kel watched Neal hand Yuki a beaming Ryokel, noticing no infant seemed disturbed by the sounds, and turned to King and Council; there was fear in Runnerspring’s face and wonder in everyone’s, though Alanna managed a wink.

            “The ceremony is ended, sire, my Lords and Lady, so breakfast awaits, and then we must be about our business of inspection. His Grace of Wellam tells me tradition dictates we begin with outlying structures and dwellings, circling in, so once we’ve eaten we will proceed to Spidren Wood where Quenuresh and Aldoven will meet us.”

            Kel had spent an interesting hour discussing with her father the niceties of the fact that as a Councillor she would be inspecting her own putative fief and existing military command. In other circumstances she would have recused herself, but had every intention of using her double position to maintain as much control as possible; as they were, it made urgent sense to undertake the part of the inspection outside the walls as rapidly as possible. Runnerspring might have objected had he been in any position to do so, and she’d planned to stick closely to the precedents Turomot’s clerks had dug out to restrict his room for manoeuvre. Alanna had the King moving as Kel finished speaking, and she would have fallen in with her father, towards the rear of the party and well behind Runnerspring and his guards, if Turomot hadn’t gravely offered his arm. He was ahead of Runnerspring and Kel hadn’t wanted those eyes boring into her back but accepted his arm with a smile, feeling the weight he rested on her as he descended the steps.

            “I wished to say, my Lady, that I thought that a fine ceremony even before the gods spoke. I was minded of words I once read to you about a knight’s duty to all the realm.” He fell silent, marshalling a thought. “I offered to be your second instructor because I care for sanctity of ritual and feared there were those who would disrupt it if they dared.” His glance under lowered brows was keen. “And many were uncertain about you, as you must know, not trusting the Chamber as I did, nor my Lord of Cavall’s assertion that you were the outstanding page of his tenure. Your qualities as a commander became evident long since, and I was content to have served the realm in instructing you. This morning I find myself proud to have done so.”

            Involuntarily her hand tightened on his arm. “It means a great deal to me that you say so, Your Grace.” She swallowed. “I never desired to upset people, only to be a knight.”

            “And that may require setting people by the ears, as may rightful command.” His voice dropped. “Do you truly believe Lord Carolan has sold himself to Maggur?”

            “I do, Your Grace, though he will not have thought of it so. And Genlith and probably Torhelm.”

            “What can they hope to gain?”

            “Power, but they’ll have told themselves they’re saving the Tortall they suppose themselves to believe in.” She shrugged. “Lady Alanna thinks it goes back to support for Duke Roger and Princess Josiane.”

            He frowned, wrinkles on wrinkles. “That may be. But you sound as if you disagree.”

             “Not really, Your Grace, but my thoughts tend more to the erosion of relative privilege in a greater realm. King Jasson begot this problem when he conquered but did not truly settle the north, and it has grown ever since. It is also riding on events far older of which I am ignorant, save that they involve gods, dragons, and timeway. Whatever he believes, Runnerspring is a pawn in greater games than he has ever understood.”

            “After this morning I believe _that_ , my Lady. And your thoughts run true, I fear—the southern and eastern lords have long used the Bloody Throne as a check on the north, preserving their wealth, and I can imagine Lord Carolan believing he yet does so.”

            Quiet as it was there was pain in his voice, as there had been in Wyldon’s contemplating the treason of men he knew, but when they reached the messhall he spoke with conscious cheer. “We return to this splendid hall, my Lady.” She let him hold the doors for her, returning the irony in his eyes with her own. “These pillars are truly godlit?”

            “Lord Weiryn’s gift. They tell the story of Haven and New Hope, Your Grace, where we must begin after we have eaten.”

            The excellence of the food had struck all first-time visitors at dinner, like the pillars and carvings, but in the shadow of Runnerspring’s failure at the Honesty Gate and the hawk ringing the bell conversation had been subdued. By morning light, after the manifest blessing of the ceremony, even Runnerspring’s guarded presence couldn’t inhibit them and they chattered like children, offering pious or wary congratulations and questions by the volley. Her father, Alanna, and Terres intercepted many and she answered some, but what was needed was a briefing and as the flow of food slackened she sent up a prayer and stood.

            Kel had considered the Eyrie with New Hope spread below, but there wasn’t really room, and starting Turomot’s or Nond’s day with more than five hundred feet of steps wouldn’t be wise. Dom had suggested using the pillars instead, and though Kel didn’t like the way the panels exaggerated her role she’d been persuaded she couldn’t modestly claim a fief. And the panels did tell the story she wanted in people’s minds, for New Hope had risen from fallen Haven—which had not proven safe, as it should have. What was proposed as a fief had been profoundly shaped by her response to those facts, and as her fief those priorities would remain, so Councillors must understand what they were actually voting about. However murky his motives Runnerspring hadn’t been wrong in principle, and she said so as Heliana distributed maps of the Greenwoods valley from Great North Road to Spidren Wood.

            “Sire, my Lords and Lady, our morning’s business is to visit Quenuresh but we will make a stop on the way, at what was once the home of many living here and is now our burial ground. And how that came to be matters, so if you’ll follow me?”

 

* * * * *

 

Kel had imagined the inspection taking two days, but things intertwined to stretch it to a week. The King was in no hurry, and Maggur, who was, was slowed by heavy rain, wagons bogging on the ill-maintained Smiskir Road. Barzha and Hebakh found him there, as Kel predicted—a force estimated at eight thousand, with a score of giants, cavalry, regulars, conscripts, and a core of three thousand men who tasted to stormwings like Stenmun’s soldiers; at Pakkai corner a thousand regulars carried on for Northwatch while the bulk turned east for the Vassa crossing nearest New Hope—where more would split off for Giantkiller. Having travelled that trail Kel knew how slow wagons would be as the sodden surface became poached. Giants would help, but it would be a while before they could cross the Vassa, and even Vanget had a grim satisfaction in the muddy picture Kel painted from Barzha’s reports.

            He’d become resigned, accepting the board was in motion and would have to play out. The western Scanran forces had scouts across the river, and without crossing into Tortall were effectively pinning the companies at Steadfast and Mastiff. In the east Lord Ferghal was sure that what he actually faced was a small number of good irregular cavalry striking hard at the most vulnerable targets they could find but not staying to fight. He had to leave his own best cavalry to respond, but knowing it as a gambit meant it could be refused and four thousand haMinchi troops were assembling to march hard for Northwatch once it was besieged. They and ten companies from its garrison would be the relieving forces for Giantkiller and New Hope, and if they could catch Maggur in the valley and close its southern end at the Great North Road … That thought had Vanget rubbing hands, but rain slowed Tortallans as well as Scanrans and there would be at least ten days, probably more, for New Hope to hold out.

            Within the hiatus the inspection remorselessly expanded. Keeping Councillors together was like herding cats but they responded to Kel’s adherence to tradition and became genuinely absorbed. Macayhill began it when, white and sweating, he bowed jerkily to Quenuresh and opened conversation about his fief’s spidrens. Kel drew in Turomot on legalities, and her father on discussions with Vorgitarl, and others found themselves unwilling to miss anything, despite severe apprehensions. Kel had to admit the King had been magnificent, not showing a single tremor in greeting spidren leaders with royal courtesy, and implacable in introducing Councillors. Watching him, Kel found Alanna beside her.

            “How’s he doing that, d’you suppose? He’s none too keen on spiders, and I thought he’d be sweating cobs.”

            “I don’t know, Alanna. I’d expected the same. Unless … the elemental showed him Quenuresh when it showed New Hope. I bet he went back and asked it to stand him next to her for practice.”

            “Huh, that’s a thought. I’ll find out.”

            “Don’t. Leave him the edges he has.”

            Alanna’s look became a stare. “You _are_ getting wise in your old age. Who’ve you been talking to about Jon?”

            “Besides you? Thayet and Vanget.”

            “Heh. Good choices.” Purple eyes rested on Kel. “In a way you’ve got him where you want him, haven’t you?”

            “He has himself where I will want him, assuming we both live through it. Tell me, would I be right to assume you and George met some new friends of Daine’s?”

            “You would. She told me you’d enlisted help.”

            “Yes. Myself, my captains, Fanche, Quenuresh, Barzha, and Var’istaan are in immediate contact. The others made it to Aly?”

            “They will shortly. Tkaa’s gone to Rajmuat.”

            “And you’ve no problem saying nothing to the King? Or to Jon?”

            “None at all. Too big a temptation for both and a distraction besides. We’d better join the fray.”

            By the time discussions wound down it was too late to do more that day and a very deliberate pace was set. A second day was spent going to meet Whitelist and looking at ogre-terraced slopes, where a formidable knack for dry-stone walling had the agriculturally minded asking serious questions. Scepticism led to swift demonstration of dry-stone arches and Kel gave up hope of moving on that day. At the same time she was kicking herself for having managed to categorise the ogres’ role as brute labour, and offered Kuriaju an apology and an enquiry about ogre interest in architectural design.

            The party was heavily guarded but Barzha confirmed no Scanrans had yet crossed the Vassa north of New Hope. Kel let Ettenor supply three squads—it was the First’s formal responsibility to guard His Majesty’s person—but deployed all of Mikal’s men, leaving the alures light. Northwatch Fourteenth were honed to a fine edge and on their mettle, so snap and efficiency were overt but they sought to integrate the men of the First. Mikal still had them practicing archery and slingwork in rotation, at marked ranges, and during those days she saw more than one Councillor look thoughtful at the accuracy demonstrated. The one alarm was also an impressive demonstration, when Cloestra reported a small group of mortals approaching under the trees. It turned out to be itinerant trappers, but the instant response of Mikal’s men, needing no orders, spoke volumes. Interestingly, the trappers had learned of the King’s presence from one of Aldoven’s kin, whom they’d been meeting to discuss furs spidrens had no use for, and evidence of peaceful contact with treaty-bound spidrens was a powerful argument.

            So were the trappers themselves, representing something southern lords had not seen for a long time, if ever. In the drier east, where fiefs clustered on tributaries of the Drell, and the Hurdik speakers of the badlands between were as driven to raiding as Scanrans, people of what Tortallans thought wilderness were known as trouble. In the wealthier, heavily settled belt south of Corus such marginal lifestyles barely existed, and the hostility of eastern lords to those they’d dispossessed was taken as true report, so Kel rammed home a lesson in loyal poverty. In Runnerspring her words roused only familiar contempt, but in the eyes of Disart, Nond, and Macayhill she saw bigotry found wanting against the evidence of carefully stitched clothing, neatly plaited hair, self-reliance, personal pride mingled with respect and curiosity. Riding back to New Hope the King came alongside.

            “That was very impressive, Lady Keladry. I shouldn’t be surprised any more at your forceful education of my Councillors, but I am.”

            “Good.” He blinked and she gave him a smile she almost meant. “You didn’t expect a smooth ride while Lord Sakuyo’s dancing, did you, sire? The best jokes always catch the jokers.”

            “Explain, please. If you would.”

            “I’m not sure I can. It’s not just Yamani thinking, it’s … I don’t know, a way of living with what I know without screaming.”

            “Useful.” He was serious, but so was Kel. “In any case, thank you. You’ve opened eyes. Thayet and I will be able to build on that.”

            “Yes, you will. But you could do with a new architect, sire. Did Her Majesty talk to you about the lesson of the self-defence classes?”

            “If you mean teaching women to defend themselves rather than trying to guard them.” He frowned. “You connect that to the trappers?”

            “They don’t want charity or to be supervised, nor to dwell in a nice, safe city, but they do want to be _able_ to better themselves. Which is impossible while the Guilds restrict membership to rich middlemen and make sure profit never comes to those it depends on. Talk to Idrius Valestone—he’ll be bending the others’ ears this evening.”

            “My power over the guilds is limited.”

            Kel swallowed exasperation. “So try influence, sire. You can throw royal weight behind the Craftsbeings’ Guild, and endorse a co-operative, profit distributing model. Or must that wait on Roald and Shinko?”

            “Ouch.” His quizzical rue made Kel like him more than for a long while. “Why did anyone think you reticent, my Lady? Have you always taken that Yamani mask off like this in private?”

            That was a good question, Kel thought. “Not really. Even with friends I was guarded—too much so, looking back, but I had no command to offset being The Girl and no grasp of the politics that comes even with friendship when everyone’s looking at you.”

            “I know about that one. But you have that grasp now, by Mithros.”

            “No—by the Black God, the Hag, and the Goddess. And Lord Sakuyo’s laughter. And by you, who have thrice given me no choice but to grasp it, like the wrong end of a morningstar.”

            When he met her eyes he was flushed. “I deserve that, as Thayet told me. The first time was your probation?” She nodded. “And Torhelm and now? With Rathhausak in there too, though Haven wasn’t my doing in the same way?”

            “More or less, sire, but it doesn’t matter. It may again, if you and I both survive what’s coming. But we can cross that bridge when we must.” She thought she heard a hawk cry but nothing was visible and New Hope was close. “And forgive me, but Her Majesty said I should if necessary order three soldiers to sit on you to prevent you exposing yourself foolishly to combat. Am I going to have to?”

            He laughed. “No, I promise. Thayet gave me that lecture at great length. Shinko was worse, and I will be good.”

            He went on being so, and Kel was easier when the inspection moved within the walls. If anyone had told her a tour of New Hope could take two days she’d have thought them drunk, but when it took fully half-an-hour to reach the Eyrie, and the visit produced from an incredulous Vanget peering though a spyglass a demand to know how in Tortall she’d built an abatis on top of a cliff, things didn’t speed along. She hadn’t anticipated that many Councillors would regard the hoist to the clifftop as a toy and be eager to try it. The ogres had taken to the device, fixing wheels to the side of the platform nearest the rock and doing something clever with pulleys that had had carpenters taking careful notes. Even so, with two soldiers hoisting at most three Councillors it would take for ever; muttering ‘funfunfun’ and hearing a squeak of amused agreement, Kel asked Kuriaju if the ogres might provide muscle power, which meant four Councillors rising faster at shorter intervals. It also meant she had no excuse not to go up herself, a journey she’d sincerely hoped never to make again. When she joined the Council peering at the abatis—even here Runnerspring had guards—her tight stomach made her brusque in explaining, but the silence when she finished restored her good humour. When the King warily asked if she could expand on ‘then he trimmed the crags’ she led them to a vantage point, sliding her arm through Turomot’s to lend him support on the awkward slope, and pointed out what Diamondflame had done.

            “Just like Lady Skysong lighting rock, for those who’ve seen that, but a _lot_ more oomph.” She grinned at Numair. “Diamondflame said he was sorry she missed the show. Did he say anything back in Corus?”

            The mage grinned back. “He did, Kel.” His hands moved against his black robe. “Kitten was very jealous.”

            And had, Kel realised, seen a darking show of events. “So she should be. It was fun.”

            “Lots.” Numair’s eyes were mischievous. “I’m jealous myself. Was he supporting himself magically when he pulled trees out of the landslip?”

            “Oh yes. He perched to do the crags, but just hovered for that.”

            “I knew stormwings could but wasn’t sure about dragons.”

            “Live and learn, eh?”

            “It’s all very well you and Numair joking, Lady Knight, but why should that dragon do such a thing for you? It’s a horribly powerful and dangerous beast and you speak of it as a _friend_.”

            “For _me_ , Lord Carolan? Not so—or only in part, as one who cares for Lady Skysong’s interests. Dragons are unfailingly conscientious about their obligations, I find.” She doubted he felt the shot but others did. “As to your insinuation, I’d hesitate myself to presume on the friendship of a being so superior, but gladly acknowledge his kindness. I believe Lord Diamondflame’s concern was for the griffins, whom he recognises as kin, for our agreement regarding defence of the cliffs was compromised by the landslip, and they appealed for assistance in keeping its letter. Griffins are particular that way. And while I doubt this will assuage your contempt for a being who has lived more centuries than you have years, Lord Diamondflame said dragons’ interests here were aligned with gods’, a rare event since the Godwars.” She gestured to the formidable, cragged escarpment Diamondflame had left. “And what does it matter? If the dragons desired to harm us none but gods could stop them—but why should they? Lord Diamondflame fought alongside us before, and visits Corus in peace. Now he has gifted New Hope protection in its need, and you suspect his motives? I am reminded, Lord Carolan, of why you alone stand under guard—that you could not honestly say you meant none at New Hope harm. Should I think you _want_ it to fall?” He hadn’t seen it coming and she took the moment. “If I send the guards away, so you stand here with only your King and peers to hear, will you speak truly? What was your liegeman doing at Tirrsmont, and what harm do you wish whom here?” She was aware of pressure somewhere. “I do not think you will have another chance to step back from the brink you stand on.”

            He didn’t hear the hawk crying over the fin. “I don’t answer to you.”

            “You answer to us collectively, Runnerspring, as we all do.” Nond’s voice was sharp. “And Mindelan’s questions are good ones.”

            “You also answer to the law, my Lord, however little you like it.” Turomot sounded bleak.

            “And you answer to Us, Lord Carolan.”

            “I have nothing to answer, _sire_.” His bitterness was evident. “I trust no silver-clawed monster, and I wish the Lady Knight and the whoredom she represents to the deeps of the sea.”

            Kel swiftly raised a hand at his guards’ movements. “Easy, lads. Sticks and stones. He’ll answer to the Black God when his time comes. And meantime you stick close.”

            “Lady Kel.” They fell again to usual alertness, faces hard.

            “Thank you. Hate me as you will, Lord Carolan, you’ll keep a civil tongue in my command or be gagged. The offer was truly made, and truly spurned. Don’t ever tell us you had no choice.”

            For once she blessed Junior as he swooped down to see what the mortals were about. He was wary of the noble crowd but when she stood apart landed to trot over with a squawk, and she knelt to scratch his head.

            “They’re admiring your parents’ and Lord Diamondflame’s work.”

            He seemed satisfied, preening, and kept pace with the platform twice as it carried Councillors down again before circling away to see what else might be happening. Kel distracted herself on the way down by travelling with the King and Vanget, explaining that once arrows were flying His Majesty’s place would be in—she had the ogre pause—the lookout, there; the platform would be waiting by the overhang.

            “You can see what’s happening, and to use the Dominion Jewel if you must, but you’re sheltered from just about anything. If the walls are breached we should be able to hold the caves, and if we can’t the platform will get you to the clifftop. Unship it behind you or cut the ropes and nothing that doesn’t fly can get you. Stormwings will take you wherever you decide.”

            “How?”

            “Net. It needs multiple carriers. Ask Numair—he and Daine did it in the Divine Realms. Lady Maura’s done it too, I believe.”

            “Very well.” He scowled. “More promises to Thayet?”

            “And Shinko and Roald. And the realm.”

            “Quite right, Kel.” Vanget’s scowl was fiercer. “And you, sire, you’ve got me grateful for stormwing aid, so you heed what you’re told. If it happens, get to Ferghal—he can get you south.”

            “Yes, yes.”

            Kel said no more, and with everyone down there was time only for the gatehouse, western alures, and north tower before the greyness of Nond’s face made a stop at the infirmary sensible. While Yuki, carrying a burbling Ryokel, showed them around, Neal and Baird saw to the elderly lord, and Kel resigned herself with incredulity to a two-day tour.

            Next day she dealt with the remainder of the buildings as briskly as she dared, pausing only over wood and craft shops serving as the Guild’s main workplace. Even there she didn’t linger, forestalling questions with a promise that the matter of the Guild would be tackled in due course. But the cave system consumed the morning, and heading for the corral after lunch Geraint’s bridge occasioned a full hour’s delay while sweating guards were obliged to demonstrate it no less than four times. Wyldon didn’t help by bringing in his ravine-bridge, and when Raoul added the portcullis-and-drawbridge system it served only to shift them from watching one to watching the other with equal fascination. Funfunfun, apparently, especially the portcullis, and regarding them as children helped Kel’s patience. At least Nond and Turomot could sit, and others were attracted by the design of barbican and killing field, then by realisation that a third of the men on duty were mage-marked convicts and the rest included their escorts and variously injured veterans.

            Kel spoke to the Mindelan men on duty, and could hear other lords receiving positive reports from their own troops. Dom didn’t need to expound his defences—his men did it for him, on the alures and in the stableblock, where massed horseflesh—with a proprietary Peachblossom adorned with sparrows and accompanied by Jump—had Wyldon looking as happy as Kel had seen him for a while. The assembled warhorses made a formidable squadron, and the sally force’s three hundred represented a careful selection. With all the visitors there were another hundred horses stalled here, some high-bred for riding rather than war, and a bustling set of ostlers and duty soldiers tending them, but Peachblossom ruled this domain with a strong sense of duty. Kel did catch him eyeing Runnerspring, and stood scratching his poll until the gelding snorted and slobbered on her shoulder.

            “The day’s coming, boy. Soon now.”

            Her voice was soft but Dom, who knew that look of Peachblossom’s, heard her. “Problem, Kel?”

            “Nothing new, Dom. We’ll see.”

            She hadn’t seen him privately since the Councillors arrived, her evenings tied up with individual meetings they sought to canvass her views on various matters, practical or abstract. She understood that she was also being inspected, but pursuit of the refugees had made her priorities and character clear, and after a while she realised they already accepted her as a power in the realm but wanted detail on the map. With the physical inspection complete attention turned to people, but things didn’t speed up. She’d arranged for those willing to become her liegers to present themselves to the Council on the terrace—but she’d been thinking of former Havenites and a few more among recent arrivals. It didn’t work out like that, initially because she had to arrange rotating relief for almost all the convicts, each careful to make the caveat concerning further service they would owe the army in peacetime. Uinse and Dom made declarations and were joined by a surprising—to her—number of Brodhelm’s and Mikal’s men, with more from among the fifty-odd veteran volunteers. Their presence had been another issue that set thoughtful looks in Vanget’s and Wyldon’s faces, and the mixed forces in the corral had focused the question even for non-military Councillors. The first veterans’ straightforward answers as to why they had come to New Hope brought direct enquiry from Nond, and Kel shrugged.

            “It’s my duty to guard His Majesty and all of you here, my Lord, and I did not have the men to do so against substantial attack. Our resources are stretched on this border, so in addition to the companies transferred for the occasion I recruited where I could.”

            “Hmph. These men are saying they _expect_ to fight. And soon.”

            “Of course they do, my Lord. So should you.”

            Nond subsided to chew on it, glancing poisonously at Runnerspring, and Raoul leant forward cheerfully.

            “Out of interest, Kel, are they being paid?”

            “Expenses and a small purse, my Lord.”

            “And who’s covering that?”

            “The Crown Prince and me.”

            The King raised a hand. “I shall be reimbursing Lady Keladry.”

            “I believe you’ve already made a contribution, sire, through your quartermasters. Veterans do have a way with them.”

            The King’s smile was austere but she could see Jonathan’s behind it, and commanders were grinning, as were veterans. “Even so, Lady Keladry. Your appeal to these men was well thought on, and what you say about capacities We have neglected is on the agenda of Our Army Council.”

            That she gave the thanks it deserved and the point was developed in testimony veterans gave as Councillors fired what they thought tough questions about disability. Dom was present, listening with captain’s ears to men he commanded, but his professional mask dissolved as he found himself commended in unusual terms. Kel’s lesson about ramps had sunk deep, and he’d been thorough in accommodating what he could and being ruthless about realities. The one-eyed archer had a position hard by the corral gatehouse, where his blind side was protected and rate of fire at a premium. The men with gammy legs no worse than Dom’s had places on the alures, and in four cases he’d paired men so each guarded the other’s weakened side; men whose lameness was more severe had been assigned stations in stables or tunnel to free haler men of the Second. A man with a hook instead of a hand could still pull the pin that would drop the portcullis in emergency—no slippy, sweaty fingers to worry about, as he observed—and all the men with lesser disabilities, or who had retired as age caught up with them, added trained bows and swords.

            The veterans were followed by immortals, connecting next morning to Idrius’s presentation concerning the Guild. Most civilian lords were highly doubtful of its structure but Kel was blunt about the twofold purpose, protecting immortals and ensuring revenues were distributed, not hoarded. Turomot probed legalities, declaring them unorthodox but permissible, and her father added the foundation of a Mindelan branch, commenting on the role visible, consistent fairness played in making a treaty possible. Disart played into Kel’s hands with a querulous complaint about the greed of New Hope in hogging revenues from immortal products and she felt her temper snap taut.

            “In so far as it happens at all, the present mechanism for transferring wealth from rich south to poor north is warfare. How much has this one cost so far, sire?”

            The King blinked. “About a million gold nobles.”

            “And you buy coffins and pensions. Instead of complaining, my Lord, try being grateful someone is trying to find an alternative that supplies you with insulation, stoneware, and icelights instead of dead bodies and increased taxes.”

            She saw him stiffen with outrage but the king and others had been equally struck by wider vista and new argument, and to her father’s amusement Kel proceeded to explain exactly how systematic retention of profit from northern trade in Corus led to the periodic need to expend millions of nobles preventing Scanrans rectifying things their own way. Master Orman had supplied her with a range of facts to volley, and when observations about Scanran economy were questioned she whistled up Stanar and his fellows to expound the reality. The King was by then as amused as the military commanders and those who understood the north, but genuinely interested to hear from Scanran rank-and-file, while Stanar and his friends seemed to feel that after Lady Kel had arrived by dragon having the Tortallan king interrogate them was no more than prisoners in fairyland might expect.

            Concerned for Adner, who had been waiting his turn for six days, Kel swept on to food. Genlith’s shipments had to be mentioned but she did so neutrally, evidence of Scanran need, moved to the divine blessings New Hope had received, and let Adner roll out impressive production figures and yields he believed the valley could sustain if fully cultivated. Those came as a shock, and if ogre-style terracing could be extended in the parallel valleys as well as along the Greenwoods New Hope could become a net food exporter on a considerable scale.

            “And that food will mostly go north, my Lords. Bluntly, hungry Scanrans won’t stay in Scanra but better fed ones may. King Jasson pushed too many people too far north into land that’s too marginal. New Hope can make a difference, and getting the Vassa flats properly cultivated on both sides has to be a priority.”

            More blinkered Councillors who’d managed to suppose until they arrived that they were undertaking a formality had realised as soon as they met Quenuresh that far more was at stake, but Kel wasn’t sure that even the King had grasped what she would be seeking to do with New Hope, and men like Terres and Harailt, though supportive, had tended to think in terms of what she’d do and mean in Corus. But Vanget, holding his brother’s proxy, Wyldon, Alanna, Raoul, Ennor, her father, and Numair had realised that giving her power in the north and expecting her to grow fat on it in Corus was foolish. Kel hadn’t asked for power but if they insisted on giving it she would use it as she saw fit, and a fief in the middle of this border was an obligation to tackle the problem systematically. New Hope had reconfigured the defences, other realities had to flow into place, and if all the King-in-Council wanted was the status quo they could whistle for yesterday. She said so bluntly, leaving them no room to claim they hadn’t known what they would be getting if they made her Keladry of New Hope, and managed a good exit line when Brodhelm appeared, politely indicating he needed a word.

            “Duty calls, sire, my Lords and Lady, so I must ask you to excuse me. But the question’s simple—thinking of all the realm, not only our own parts of it, do we _want_ a New Hope? Or will old and selfish cynicism do?” She looked at Runnerspring, who sneered back. “Lord Carolan can tell you about that.”

             The collective wince made him drop his eyes but not before she’d seen fear and some very different hope from her own. Kel was increasingly puzzled by what he expected to happen, even supposing he trusted Maggur’s word, but Brodhelm’s business was confirmation from Barzha that the Scanran force had begun to cross the Vassa, and revealed powerful magecraft—red-robe at least—in constructing a bridge of lashed boats. They would be across more quickly than Kel had thought, and with better roads on the Tortallan side would be at New Hope in two days; Barzha and Hebakh would check on the western force before returning, and Kel asked Cloestra to monitor the larger force’s progress. Without the Eyrie they’d have needed to post human scouts too, but with wagons, giants, and that many men the Scanrans would be on the road, and there was more risk than gain in putting anyone outside the safety of the walls. All livestock was in, and there wasn’t a great deal to do but Kel did start Brodhelm and other captains on final checks and battening-down. Then she went to tell the King-in-Council who was coming to call.

 

* * * * *

 

A grim Council spent the next day in closed session discussing boundaries. Kel recused herself, having refused Runnerspring’s demand his guards be excluded. “You wish New Hope harm, Lord Carolan, carried an incapacitating poison, and a powerful enemy nears our gates. You go _nowhere_ without guards.”

            Disart and Macayhill might have objected but Vanget’s emphatic agreement and the King’s clear disinclination to countermand her order made them think better of it. Neither in law nor by custom was she obliged to recuse herself, and imminent Scanrans concentrated minds wonderfully on demands of security. Kel was curious as to what they might think an appropriate size, and if they’d be willing to exceed the natural boundaries of the valley, but was finding it hard to think beyond the coming battle and knew her perspective afterwards would be very different. In any case, the King seemed to think it helpful if she gave them space to debate, and there was much else she should be doing.

            She spent the morning virtuously clearing paperwork not even imminent battle seemed to avert and speaking to visiting troops. By lunchtime she’d had enough virtue and as soon as the Council returned to its deliberations made her way to the corral. By strange coincidence Dom was off duty, his sitting-room faced the cliff, it had been too long and danger was close. To be naked with him in daylight, knowing other people were close by, was startlingly different and they found an intensity that filmed them with sweat. Wanting more, she understood the desperate affirmation in the sweetness, and blindly moving above him didn’t mind her tears; nor did he ask, holding and kissing her as they dried. It might be dereliction but it left her relaxed and honed again, rebalanced after days of political prudence and persuasion, and the fluid, precise speed of her pattern dance next morning won knowing looks from Yuki and Alanna as well as the latter’s whistling admiration.

            She could draw on that inner calm for the day’s business, which was, ridiculously, the actual Imbolc session. There were boundary disputes, extensions where new ground had been broken, and an oddity involving a man who had left the same fields to at least three people in as many contradictory and unwitnessed wills—and though all had clear recommendations from Duke Gareth based on investigation, and the only full set of papers to have come north was hers, it was right that each be addressed properly. Formal votes took time, the oddity was a hopeless tangle, and it wasn’t until late morning they came to the heading _New Fief_. The atmosphere tightened as the king sat forward.

            “My Lords, my Ladies, be clear we are deciding two matters in principle—whether New Hope should become a fief and if so whether Lady Keladry be considered liegelady designate. I remind you her application has yet to be formally lodged, and that after your varied advice yesterday I made no decision about boundaries. But given that we face imminent battle I make clear I am _not_ today considering what guerdon may be due Lady Keladry in respect of her astonishing service during this war as a soldier and diplomat to immortals. All else aside, that service continues, and its proper guerdon increases daily.”

            Kel didn’t care for the sound of that but wasn’t going to argue until there was something to argue with, and nodded thanks with her Yamani mask. She was sure her father and Raoul suppressed smiles; what the King or anyone else but Runnerspring thought she couldn’t guess.

            “So. I am happy to tell you, Lady Keladry, that I took advantage of your absence yesterday to register votes, and with a single exception in each case my Councillors agreed New Hope should become a fief, and be yours. We add a formal statement of warm, not to say astonished congratulation on all you have created here.” Kel’s stomach tightened. “Frankly, my Lady, even knowing you and New Hope have the gods’ blessings this week has been a revelation and, for all but one who had not been here before, a humbling experience.” Runnerspring’s face was immobile but the King was smiling ruefully. “The power you have forged here is palpable, and ennoblement will be a formality. The reality exists, with what is already a fief in all but name.”

            Kel wasn’t touching that with a long stick, and he wasn’t done.

             “We will also issue a directive to all Our liegelords, under Crown powers of treaty, requiring them to seek agreements with all immortals in their domains, on the model of your treaties here, and until laws can be passed to that effect We mandate by royal fiat that trade in all and any goods produced by immortals, or with immortal power and aid, shall be the exclusive purview of the Craftsbeings’ Guild. Reciprocally, We direct you, as acting Guildmaster, to assist Our liegelords in obeying Us swiftly as best you may.”

            _That_ would drive thoroughgoing change and all except Runnerspring seemed to endorse it … the enormity of what the week had achieved rushed in on Kel. Could Runnerspring’s intentions have been reversed any more comprehensively? Yet his face didn’t suggest awareness of utter defeat, and no decision meant much until implemented—but unless New Hope fell this one would be, and the image in her mind was of the timeway narrowing, another set of possible futures falling away and events that _would_ be redistributing themselves while Lord Sakuyo laughed and laughed. Did her father hear him? Or the King?

            “The timeway rejoices.” She didn’t know she’d spoken aloud until she saw Jonathan’s puzzlement but her attention was arrested by a horn-call from the Eyrie and as it flicked upwards at the end she was on her feet. “Excuse me, that needs investigating. Vanget, no-one leaves until I return.”

            The door had swung shut behind her before anyone spoke and then it was Runnerspring, in a jeer. “So she gives you orders, Vanget? And thinks you can give them to all of us?”

            Vanget kept his temper though his burr thickened. “She commands here, Runnerspring, if you haven’t noticed—and everyone who outranks her is here as her guest, not in chain of command. Besides, in her shoes I’d give the same order—she’s responsible for our safety and the last thing she needs if action’s starting is us wandering about like geese. Which is why, sire, my Lords, we’re staying put as instructed.” He shot Runnerspring a look of contempt.

            “Of course we are.” The King’s brooked no disagreement. “But that wasn’t a reaction to an expected alarm, I think.”

            “No.” Alanna’s face was tight. “That inflection meant something to Kel, but I don’t know what—she has a whole set of calls.” Purple eyes went to Runnerspring’s guards. “Do either of you know that one?”

            “Large armed party in the upper valley, my Lady.”

            “The _upper_ valley?”

            “South of the fin, my Lady. Probably off the Great North Road.”

            “Which is the wrong place for Scanrans.” Alanna shrugged, looking at Runnerspring’s faint smile. “No way of knowing until Kel gets back, unless Lord Carolan would care to enlighten us.”

            “I, Pirate’s Swoop? Why should I know anything?”

            “Well now, my Lord, that’s an interesting question.” Kel came forward, swinging the door shut behind her. She had needed only a private space to be shown by Ebony what Seed could see through the sentry’s spyglass from the Eyrie. “One reason you might know about the party of five or six hundred mixed cavalry approaching down valley is that among their leaders is a knight displaying your device. Those of Genlith, Torhelm, Groten, Heathercove, and Marti’s Hill are also visible.” She slipped through the corner gap between tables and leaned against her empty place, contemplating him. “Do tell, my Lord.”

            “I know nothing of it, and if I did I’d not tell you.”

            “Wrong on both counts.” Something in her voice made him shift in his seat. “Among the cavalry are a company of Scanran regulars. A knight bearing your device is in arms against his King and colluding with the enemy. Are you telling us Sir Garvey has the wit to commit such treason without your orders? Please.”

            “It’s no treason!”

            Too late he realised her stinging contempt had been deliberate and flushed, but he’d opened the way. Kel leaned back. “Isn’t it? Then perhaps you’d explain how collusion with the enemy in wartime, with the King’s person at risk, is loyal to Tortall.”

            “It’s exactly loyal to _Tortall_ , you stupid woman.” He gave her a look of infinite contempt before switching it to the King. “Not the mongrel version you’ve wished on us, _sire_ , but one we can be proud of. One without women pretending to knighthood and corrupting the Chamber, free of monsters she wants to be _friends_ with.” He glared scorn. “I couldn’t believe you fools yesterday, bleating agreement. Recruit spidrens and build walls with ogres? It’s obscene and you don’t even see it any more, any of you, even with a half-breed prince married out—are we to have a king who’s barely a quarter Tortallan? And live with monsters? Swive ’em too, maybe? You’ve let one crazy bitch bring down Tirrsmont and Torhelm, and said _nothing_. And now you want to _reward_ her? Tortall’s being dragged to the sewer, some of us have had enough, and if you hadn’t noticed, Vanget, you’re trapped here and you all deserve what you’ll be getting. You especially, Cavall—prosing principles but letting the bitch through, and _promoting_ her. Faugh.” Wyldon’s face was unmoving and Runnerspring’s gaze went back to the King, gloating triumph replacing contempt in his voice. “Your time has run out, you spineless fool.” He waggled a hand, as if being judicious. “There are advantages in continuity and you have Jasson’s blood, little as you show it, so divorce that foreign bitch and get a proper Tortallan heir, and you can keep that debating stool you call a throne until he’s of age. Or go into exile in Carthak with your other foreign son and I’ll call it good riddance. Your father was a dithering fool and you’re weaker—even he’d never have stood to be ordered about by a woman, nor for these monsters.” His eyes came back to Kel. “And as for you, _Lady_ Knight—what an obscene stupidity that is”—his voice was vicious—“even with your monsters and cripples you’ve nothing like enough men to keep a real army out, and you’ve _no_ idea what’s coming at you. New Hope will fall, and that will be that. I’ll give you one piece of advice, though.” Malice blazed in his eyes. “Maggur wants you burned, as you burned Rathhausak, and he’ll not be kind first, so if you’re sensible you’ll make sure you’re not alive when his men come through that gate.”

            Throughout his rant the other Councillors had sat in silence, shock and rage developing in their faces as they absorbed his words. The King’s silence had held them immobile but as Runnerspring’s abuse became personal the spell broke. Kel’s voice cut across the shouts.

            “What a lot of things you choose to ignore, my Lord.” Runnerspring recoiled where he sat. The Councillors had heard that dead flat voice twice before, and fell silent but Kel barely noticed in the icy, roaring rage that clamoured to possess her. “Beginning with the fact that you’re a confessed traitor under arrest. Keep your advice. All I require from you is whatever you know about the forces massing outside my gates.”

            “Piss on you, bitch. You’ll find out soon enough.”

            “Yes, I will.” She turned to Turomot, seeing his face blank with shock. “Your Grace, do you concur that Lord Carolan is a manifest and self-confessed traitor to his King and his realm?”

            The old man blinked once. “He is undoubtedly so, my Lady.”

            “And so, though noble, liable to torture.”

            He blinked again. “Yes.”

            Kel’s head swung. “Do you forbid it, sire?”

            Jonathan shook his head, voice hard. “No. We must know what he has done.”

            “So.” Somewhere within her rage Kel thought of Rogal as she took her _shuriken_ from her belt, aware of eyes fixed on her every movement. “Lord Carolan, do you remember when we first met?”

            His bravado was ebbing as her voice continued flat, and she wished desperately her father was not present, nor Raoul. Nor Wyldon.

            “Vaguely.” He managed a sneer. “You ran away, I recall.”

            “You recall wrong, but you were drunk and revealingly crude.” Her voice sounded far away and the _shukusen_ swung from her hand. “Since then, my Lord, wondering how a man as ill-minded as your son comes to be, I have made it my business to listen to people who know you, and they all say the same. Beneath your obsessions with pride, wealth, and race, your daily habit is to grope, ogle, and swive women, willing, bought, or forced. So that’s where we shall begin.” She snapped open the _shukusen_ , tilting it so light gleamed on Yamani steel. “Lord Carolan, hear me well. I ask what you know of the forces massing here, and the plot you have laid. At the first refusal I will cut off your left hand, at the second your left eye, at the third your pizzle and stones.” In the horror she turned to Baird, voice never wavering. “Your Grace, I must ask you to be prepared to stem the bleeding, if necessary. Not pain, of course. The _shukusen_ will leave a neat stump.”

            He looked ill but took a deep breath, nodded, and rose. “My Lady.”

            Runnerspring’s eyes widened as Kel moved forward to stand before him and Baird came round the table to flank her, drawing up his sleeves.

            “You can’t do this!”

            She pinned him with her eyes, no more than an enemy in the way of her glaive. “Wrong again. You are a confessed traitor, without standing in law, and you threaten my people. I will do _anything_ it takes to defend them and I bear the Black God’s grace from his own lips. I need knowledge of your treason, now, and I will have it.” If Runnerspring doubted her he was the only person who did, and she looked at Uinse’s men behind him, as stiff as boards, eyes intent. “Hold him down, please, hands on the table.”

            Heavy hands bore down on Runnerspring’s shoulders and each guard leaned forward to pin his forearms. The projecting hands reminded Kel of starfish on the beach at Mindelan, and she turned the _shukusen_ , seeing the trajectory needed and abstractly regretting the use she found for Shinko’s beautiful gift. It came to her that neither fierce Cricket nor the Crown Princess would object, and she tightened stomach muscles as she sent up a prayer from the clear mind inside the rage and fear compelling her.

            “Last chance. Who comes to my gates with what purpose?”

            He wasn’t a coward and attempted defiance, though his eyes were screaming. “You haven’t the gu—”

            If she’d slammed the _shukusen_ down it would have gone through the table, but only its sharpened vanes pierced the wooden surface as the same liquid movement she’d found in her pattern dance brought the fan to a precise halt. Baird’s green magic flared around it, and when the rising fan flicked hand from forearm no blood spilled. She saw agony and shock in Runnerspring’s eyes and while her mind wailed behind blessed glass her rage bored into him as his world and self buckled. The razor-edged extending vane of the _shukusen_ slid smoothly to a halt where he could just focus on it, and slowly forward. Her gaze locked with his and his eyes bulged terror as he tried to focus on her and on the blade an inch from his eye.

            “Second time of asking. _What do you know of this attack?_ ”

            Everything she had went into her voice and she saw it break him as she heard his babble begin and twitched the _shukusen_ aside, indicating to the soldiers that they could ease their grips. Both were white-faced but she saw nothing in their looks to match the revulsion in her mind. Runnerspring barely seemed to notice Baird as he continued to stream green fire into the raw, bloodless stump, frowning concentration. The severed hand was leaking, Kel saw, as the controlling part of her mind listened to the skeltering tale.

            The knights riding for New Hope were Garvey, Guisant, Ansil and Arknor, Belar, and Quinden, and Genlith was with them, and Torhelm’s faithful steward, and they had been waiting north of Bearsford with nearly five hundred men—liegers and hired—in case the King fled south before Maggur could invest New Hope, and met up with a Scanran company sent with the force besieging Mastiff, and the valley was sealed, and they should surrender because Maggur had mages who could beat Numair and engines no walls could resist, so it didn’t matter he wouldn’t be able to drug the gateguards as he’d promised, and Maggur would win, he had to, but he only wanted the woman who’d killed Blayce and burned Rathhausak raped and dead, as anyone would, and some of the lands Jasson had conquered, only as far as Trebond, worthless places anyway, he was welcome, it was a small price and a smaller, southern Tortall with a new ally on its northern border would be better off and could again become what it should be, without the unnatural women of such places as Trebond and Mindelan, Sarain and Yaman.

            The frantic speech trailed into silence and Kel had to lock her throat against rising bile. “You _believed_ Maggur only wanted me dead and the northern third of the realm? Goddess, you really are stupid.” Her throat still tight she looked at Numair, face as blank as rock. “Were you able to make those doses?”

            “Baird has them.”

            His voice was cold. She looked at the guards behind Runnerspring, whose eyes were glazing as Baird eased pain he hadn’t stopped with the bleeding, and made herself speak briskly. “Lord Carolan is to be confined to the cell, and drugged. His Grace will supply dreamrose pills. He gets one meal a day and a pill, by force if necessary, until I say otherwise. No guards—once he’s unconscious report to Uinse. He’ll know what’s happening by then.” Ebony would be telling Seed.

            “Lady Kel.”

            They saluted, lifted him, and went. After resting a hand gently on her shoulder for a moment, pity she couldn’t bear in his green eyes, Baird followed and she turned to the King.

            “I must ask you to excuse me for a moment.”

            She didn’t wait on a reply but fled, just making it to the nearest privy before her stomach emptied itself in appalling heaves that left her white and sweaty. She took a moment to wipe her face and swill out her mouth, but there was no time for more and she straightened, squaring shoulders and ignoring whatever was behind glass.

            “Ill?”

            “No, Ebony. Not ill. Just sick to my stomach.”

            “You get secrets good.”

            “Yes, I did.”

            “Necessary.”

            “Yes. Not fun. Tell me what’s happening south and north.”

            She listened, wiped her face again, and headed back. No-one seemed to have moved and she had the idea none had spoken in the minutes she’d been away, but the severed hand had, mercifully, vanished. She stood behind her chair, grateful to lean on it.

            “Sire, my Lords and Lady. Lord Carolan is correct that we are besieged. The Scanran vanguard is in sight from the Eyrie and what I’ll call Genlith’s forces have crossed the stonebridge and are milling about. Our gates are shut.” Her eyes shifted to Wyldon and she straightened. “My Lord, do you wish to assume command?”

            “Certainly not, my Lady. I consider myself under your command for the duration.”

            “General—”

            “No, Kel. We’re all under your command here.”

            Disart sat up. “No offence, my Lady, but you are inexperienced yet. Vanget, surely—”

            “Kel knows New Hope and its defences as no-one else.” Raoul wagged a finger. “And I doubt she showed us everything. The odds are more even than Runnerspring thinks, and Maggur’s going to take a _lot_ of casualties.” He tried a grin. “Besides, you’ve seen her command all week—d’you really think it’s a good idea to try to stop her now?”

            “But we’re facing Tortallan troops, not Scanran rabble.”

            “Oh gods.” The pain in Kel’s voice snapped Disart’s eyes to her. “Those Tortallans will be first to die, my Lord. Their value to Maggur is only as corpses drawing our teeth, and there is nothing for which I hate Runnerspring more. The danger is what you call Scanran rabble. But if I’m really in charge of this slaughter we need to be doing.” She took a deep breath, marshalling thoughts. “Sire, the lookout post. Tobe will escort you. Vanget, with him please. Wyldon, Raoul, Alanna, join your companies, please, but you’re all on the sally force roster. You too, Imrah, and with your escort squads in the corral, please. Numair, what did Runnerspring mean about Maggur having mages who could best you?”

            “I don’t know. If there’s more than one red robe I’d be a fool to face them in open combat, but while I’m in and they’re out there’s not much they can do I can’t neutralise.”

            “Could he have a black robe?”

            Numair shrugged. “Not one who graduated.”

            “An immortal?”

            “Only if it’s a dragon. Or a new kind, I suppose.”

            “Right. Gatehouse roof, please, and Harailt, north tower roof—Ettenor’s there. Draw mail and bascinets and remember what you can see can see you—our casualties will mostly come from arrow fire. _Don’t_ be among them. Your Grace of Wellam, Papa, my Lord of Nond, please take no offence if I ask you to go to the caves, and put yourselves at the disposal of Fanche. Your presence will reassure, and your swords strengthen the defences, should they be needed.” Baird would go to the infirmary, which left five whose strengths she didn’t know. “My Lords of Haryse, Frasrlund, Disart, Blue Harbour, and Macayhill, your best weapon, in a word?”

            “Sword.”

            “Sword.”

            “Bow.”

            “Sword.”

            “Lance.”

            “Thank you. Bow and lance to the corral—lance for the sally squad. Swords to the north tower reserve, Sergeant Connac. Questions?”

            Raoul’s grin was genuine. “Not for you, Kel. See why she’s in charge, Disart?”

            Whether he did would have to wait, and with commanders up and moving Kel could chivvy everyone while asking the King, Vanget, and Numair to wait. Alanna and Raoul clapped her shoulder as they passed, but Kel was more stricken by Wyldon’s awkward hand on her forearm and her father’s wet face and intense hug before he followed Nond out. Var’istaan was waiting and she asked him in, seeing eyebrows rise. She knew her voice was very flat and couldn’t help it.

            “Sire, General Vanget, you’re going to want to know what’s going on and I’d be a fool to cut myself off from your advice, so I’m going to introduce you to someone. But you have to understand this being is a volunteer, not subject to treaty and _not_ your subject, sire, but a resident of the Dragonlands. You can request but can’t order.” She looked at Var’istaan. “Thank you for agreeing, Var’istaan. Shale, please make yourself known. And you, Ebony.”

            She’d never been sure where the basilisk’s darking was concealed but a patch of beaded hide over its shoulder flowed to the table and gathered itself, extruding a head as it lost the grey tinge and reverted to black. She felt Ebony extrude its head too.

            “Hello. Me Shale.”

            “Hello. Me Ebony.”

            “Darkings!” The King’s face showed surprise, rue, frustration, and avarice blending into admiration. “Where did you … _how_ did you—”

            “No questions, sire. Now be polite.”

            “Polite!” He shook his head. “Of course. Hello Shale, was it? And Ebony. I am Jonathan. Jon.”

            “You king.”

            “For my penance. But another darking once called me Jon, when it called me anything, so I think you should too. And this is Vanget.”

            “You general.”

            “Yes. Hello.” Vanget rubbed his chin. “These are the creatures that helped us in the Immortals War?”

            “That’s right. The Badger brought one with news Daine and Numair were alive, and it turned all its fellows that had been spying on us. They left with Lord Diamondflame after the war.”

            “And now they’re back.”

            “Dragonlands boring. New Hope famous. We volunteer. Helping.”

            “And having fun, I expect.”

            The King’s smile looked genuine and Kel liked him the better for it but couldn’t respond.

            “Yes, fun.”

            “Not fun today. Work.” Ebony corrected Shale.

            “No, not fun today. But the point is, sire, sir, you’ll both be able to see what I can, with no magical drain, and if there’s something I need to know you can tell me directly.”

            Ebony raised its squeak. “First walking men reach Spidren Wood.”

            “Thank you. Tell Brodhelm I’ll be there directly. Shale, hide yourself on the King somewhere. Tobe will take you to the lookout post, sire, and make sure you’re fed.”

            Around Var’istaan’s bulk she watched her son lead her King and her commander, praying for his safety. Numair was still slumped in his chair and she drew breath painfully. “Numair?”

            “Eh? Oh, yes. Can you spare one more minute, Kel?”

            Her name stopped her denial. “Only one, truly.”

            He stood, and to her surprise hugged her. “That was necessary, brutal, and efficient. I doubt you’ve ever done anything harder and I’m sorry I froze on you. The only people I’ve ever seen do such a thing enjoyed it. It sent me back.”

            Emotion returned to her and she swallowed hard. “I didn’t.”

            “No, I know. And you’ll hate yourself for a while, but don’t ever think you’re like the people who do enjoy it, Kel. They don’t vomit afterwards. Now, where do I get this mail?”


	26. Resistance

**Chapter Twenty-Six — Resistance**

_8 – 9 February_

 

To an untrained eye the view from the gatehouse roof was spectacularly grim. The traitor knights and their motley companies had been swept into a loose mass near the fin by a stream of Scanran troops making camp at a respectful distance from the walls. These were veteran regulars, setting about their business with practiced efficiency, and by the time more ragged conscript companies began joining them a pattern had been established even greenhorns could follow. The wagon train was still several miles away, with a group of giants ambling beside labouring mules; a larger group with the tallest giants—twenty-five footers—were standing by the river, bellowing defiance. Several hundred feet above, skimming the underside of grey cloud, stormwings circled lazily and no-one could doubt they had plenty to feed on.

            To the trained eye things weren’t much less grim but Kel knew the flaws to look for. The stormwings had done their best to map the column, and she could match visual cues to their guide. The conscripts were obvious, with the poorest armour and weapons and the least clue, but coerced troops who made up the bulk of the van could be told from loyalist companies forming the core. It was subtle—slight differences in uniform, close similarity of weapons, a prevalent style of officer’s cloak, and a certain swagger in loyalists—but once seen distinctive, and as Kel worked it out she observed aloud, knowing Ebony would relay to her captains. Battle was battle and niceties disappeared fast, but loyalists would be targeted by preference.

            The baggage train was trickier, and at the rear with giants was a section of lumber wagons that tempted Kel. It was probably siege engines and getting rid of them might save much grief—but she had plans for anything made of wood or even metal, and the other possible target was too important. The forty wagons at the front of the train, loyalist companies fore and aft, were unmistakably a commissariat—eight cookwagons, two with cauldrons and tripods, and thirty piled with supplies—and the whole assemblage of loyalists and food would be nicely bracketed by the four rockfalls on that side of the valley. Food didn’t burn as well as wood and couldn’t be replaced in a wet northern February. The company in front of the first wagon was nearing the weed concealing the most southerly fall and Kel straightened, murmuring.

            “Ebony, please ask Shale to tell the King and General Vanget they should look at the wagon train, just south of Haven.”

            She crouched to open the box of mageblast keys, and carefully took the right set, checking the lettering on each, _Rockfall West_ and a number, 1–4. The keys were too thick to snap all at once, and she paired 1 and 4,  2 and 3, setting them carefully on the crenel. A check through the spyglass showed she had a couple of minutes, and she watched for one before setting the glass down and picking up the 1-and-4 pair. The morale of her own people was going to matter, so she put her free hand to her lips in a sharp whistle; as heads turned she raised her arm and swung it down, regretting with all her heart the mules and sending up an apologetic prayer to their god as she tensed her fingers.

            “So it starts.”

            The _cracks_ of keys snapping were barely audible beyond the gatehouse roof but to Kel echoed loudly. The mageblasts were too far away to be heard, but she could see greenery start to shiver. Then the slope above men and wagons slid into lines of motion, still in silence, throwing up a haze of dust and fragments as its tide flowed to engulf them, and sound began, a great rumble felt as well as heard that continued for long seconds after visible motion ceased. The dust made it hard to see but frantic men left standing between falls and companies breaking formation to run back was evidence enough, and Kel became aware of cheering and Brodhelm’s grim smile beside her. Her nausea was balanced by a satisfaction more than professional, for men who had enabled Maggur’s necromancy and wanted to kill her people were dead, but she knew the mules would haunt her dreams.

            Besides casualties and what Kel hoped would be a critical loss of food the road was blocked, and if troops north of the fall could detour through fields laden wagons could not. But the Scanran response was impressive, desperate individual efforts swiftly superseded by lines of soldiers passing rocks to dump beyond the road, and others pulling out injured and more often dead, laid in a growing line in the field. As the rescuers reached smashed and jutting timbers, giants were called in to help; dead mules began to be pulled out. Dented cauldrons and bent tripods might be serviceable, but grainsacks had been torn open and work slowed as the Scanrans recovered what they could.

            Cloestra had agreed to observe and was circling a hundred feet up when she abruptly rose, climbing sharply away to circle briefly at much greater altitude before heading back. All the stormwings aloft had risen too, evidently wary. Kel stood back and Cloestra glided in to land on a merlon, claws scritching on stone.

            “What did you see?”

            “Mages, Protector—one who is strong, and another. The strong one has the Carthaki spells to control immortals and let us know it. We will not be able to fly as low as we had hoped. But just now that mage’s more important task is to gather spilt grain and roots. Your blow was shrewd.”

            “And casualties?”

            “Sixty-one dead I counted, and more yet beneath stone. As many more with broken bones and twice as many who bleed and limp.”

            Some of those dead would be cooks but most must be from loyalist companies, and even in a force of seven thousand, two-hundred-and-fifty casualties would be felt. There was also the delay.

            “How long before they can clear the road?”

            “Two hours at least, Protector. Magic may sift grain from dust but sacks are yet required.” Steel teeth glinted. “And those mages may find their concentration interrupted.”

            She dropped from the merlon, flapping into a climb and disappeared round the fin as Kel glared after her, question stillborn. There weren’t a lot of options, but who knew what stormwings might think up? There had been venom in Cloestra’s voice when she mentioned those spells, and Kel turned to Numair. “Does that tell us anything we didn’t know?”

            “Maybe.” Numair shrugged. “Only a red or black robe can cast those spells, though others can then use them, and not every red robe knew how—just Ozorne’s special pets. But Gissa of Rachne and Tolon Gardiner were on my list already—Gardiner’s only a yellow, but he was at Dunlath where those spells were used. There are at least two more reds and five or six yellows unaccounted for, but one red probably died in Sarain, and the other is thought to be with pirates in the southern Emerald Ocean.”

            “So you think it’s Gissa and Tolon?”

            “I’m beginning to, Kel. That remark of Runnerspring’s sounded like he’d heard someone boast, and they’re more likely to talk that way than anyone I don’t know.”

            Kel knew enough of Dunlath to understand—the Arram Draper Carthakis had known as a hopelessly impractical student was not Numair Salmalín after twenty years’ service to Tortall, but first impressions died hard. “Even after you turned that other one into a tree?”

            “Perhaps—I think both were fleeing Dunlath by then.”

            Brodhelm blinked. “You really turned someone into a tree, Master Numair? I’d heard the story but thought it a tall tale.”

            “I did, I’m afraid, Brodhelm—a mage called Tristan Staghorn. He was threatening Daine and I had no time for anything fancy.”

            Brodhelm blinked again. “Treeifying isn’t fancy?”

            Numair smiled, though Kel could tell the memory was painful. “Not really—a word of power does it. And turns some poor tree into a person. It took me a year to find him, in western Jindazhen.”

            “Huh. What kind of trees?”

            “Apple, both times.”

            Kel left them to the improbable conversation, returning to her spyglass, and found patience rewarded by the return of Cloestra with other stormwings, circling above labouring mages and soldiers to release ordure with surprising accuracy, and by one and then another soldier falling to plunging arrows. The fire from the treeline above the rockfalls was deadly accurate, and could only be from centaurs who’d come along the ridgeline, presumably prompted by Cloestra. Spells that worked on stormwings must threaten centaurs too, and if their fire was no more than sniping it slowed things further, forcing the Scanrans to post shieldmen. Two squads were despatched to take direct action, struggling up the steep slopes and disappearing into the trees. They would be lucky if all returned, Kel thought bleakly, and a while later a hoarse scream that rose and faded told her she’d been right. Nor had men blundering through the trees stopped the fire, and watching carefully she decided there were four centaurs at work, all of whom knew exactly how to take advantage of the angles they were creating moving back and forth along irregular eaves and crags, and of their height advantage.

            The delays became great enough that Kel began to think it would be tomorrow at least before the Scanrans were in any position to mount any attack. Even when those lumber carts could continue siege engines would need assembling, and that might take a day or two. For all his cunning and superior forces brought to bear Maggur’s window of opportunity was limited, and tactics to slow him ran in her mind alongside need to bleed his forces, especially loyalists; there were also questions about accumulating delays and the morale of his men. Eyeing the expanding Scanran camp she had Ebony ask Seed to tell the sentries in the Eyrie to find out how far their bows would range from that height, and though she didn’t see anyone hit the arrows that began to plunge among bedrolls and half-erected tents caused satisfactory panic, with rippling effects. The orderliness of the growing camp disappeared as incoming companies milled about, and the regular layout became warped as its lines had to bend away from the fin. Disputes broke out that eventually called someone senior from attempts to recover food.

            Kel studied the officer’s bearded face, committing it to memory and having her captains do so as he brought harshly renewed discipline to the mêlée. He didn’t resemble Stenmun, though blond hair and beards made many Scanrans superficially similar, but his hard competence and ready resort to controlled, effective violence were familiar. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Stanar but she’d bet he could put a name to this man, and that he stood high in Maggur’s regime.

            Once he was done bringing order and had marked out a camp-line fifty yards further back than the longest arrowshot the sentries had managed, he strode over to the knot of Tortallan flags in a notably messier bivouac Genlith’s traitors had established at the edge of the Scanran camp. Kel’s professional admiration rose with her fear and regret. In thinking there would be no assault before dawn she’d been reckoning on experienced Scanran commanders, not Tortallan knights fuelled by resentments, blinkered by misplaced confidence, and fired up by having openly crossed into treason. Watching the bustle the Scanran started she realised they were stupid enough to do what he must be asking, and wouldn’t even realise he’d expect—want—them to be killed.

            But there was to be an interlude. As mixed troops began forming up, the colours of Genlith and Runnerspring prominent, two knights started towards the moatbridge, the one behind carrying a truce-flag on a lance. As they came nearer she identified Guisant and Garvey; even at this distance they looked cocky, but as the glacis and palisades began to loom above them their faces became set. Kel raised her voice.

            “Hold your fire. We’ll hear what they have to say.” She leaned through a crenel to watch them. “Any instructions, sire?”

            There was a pause before she felt Ebony’s head brush her ear.

            “King say carry on. Say traitors better dead. Trials messy.”

            “Oh he needn’t worry about that, if they attack up the roadway.”

            “General say to King you right. Scanrans use traitors first, make you use traps.”

            It hadn’t occurred to Kel she could eavesdrop on Vanget and the King as easily as they on her. “I’m not sure you should be reporting what Vanget tells the King, Ebony, unless he means me to know.”

            “Only if interesting. What traps?”

            “The roadway’s a killing field. But hush now. They’re nearly here.”

            Guisant and Garvey reined in at the turn of the roadway. She considered going down, and had the Scanran accompanied them would have done so, but there was no parlaying with traitors and nothing much she could learn from either knight she didn’t already know, so she waited, looking down until their heads tilted back enough to see her.

            “Sir Guisant, Sir Garvey. Have you thought better of your treason?”

            The polite enquiry carried along the alure, as she’d meant it to, and she saw Garvey’s flush and the anger on Guisant’s face.

            “You won’t be joking soon, bitch. You’re finished, you and our weak, stupid king. But we don’t want to kill men only doing their duty. Surrender now, you and the King, and we’ll leave everyone else alone. Otherwise we’ll be through your gate before nightfall and everyone goes to the sword, so you’d best go get someone competent to decide.”

            Kel felt a kind of pity for a warped, bone-stupid man who had no idea he’d almost certainly be dead very soon. She kept her voice grave, and let it carry. “There are problems with that plan, Sir Guisant, besides the facts that as a manifest traitor you cannot be treated with and that I command here. Only a fool would trust you or Maggur, and only an honourless man would turn over comrades to an enemy. It’s also surpassingly stupid to think we’d hand you a victory Maggur desperately needs when we can hand you bloody defeat, and will if you attack. Have you asked yourselves _why_ that Scanran wants you to make the first assault? Or why he’s brought six thousand men to try to do what you think you’ll manage with five hundred?”

            “They’ll be heading south, fool, while this place smoulders in ruin.”

            “Really? To Corus, perhaps? Or do you still believe Maggur wants only the lands King Jasson conquered? What would you be doing in his shoes, Sir Guisant?”

            To her surprise Garvey spoke, trying to sound sincere but only managing an oily unpleasantness. “Keladry, I know we’ve never got on, but you must see reason. You can’t want everyone slaughtered and we know how few soldiers you have. Think of the children. Spare them at least.”

            Rage glimmered in Kel’s vision. “By handing them to a king who planned to have them all raped and killed by a necromancer, Sir Garvey?”

            “That’s just a wild story. They’ll be looked after, we promise.”

            “A wild story? Do you remember who killed Blayce the Gallan, Sir Garvey? And who else was there? Perhaps you think all six hundred of us made it up and burned Haven and Rathhausak to pass the time.” She was weary of them and this delay accomplished nothing. “Unless you will surrender and plead for mercy, get you gone.”

            Guisant’s face darkened but Garvey spoke again. “Then I would speak with my father.”

            “I imagine you would, but I’m afraid he’s confessed his treason and is imprisoned so that’s not going to happen.”

            Garvey’s veneer peeled away. “I’ll have him free by nightfall and then we’ll see what’s going to happen.”

            She ignored him, pulling away from the crenel and hearing their horses’ hooves as they turned back down the roadway. “Brodhelm, the men on inner west and both off-duty west companies to outer west, please. Master archers should target knights and officers first, but if they really come straight up we’ll be aiming for a clean sweep. No special arrows, and no-one fires before I do. I’ll use blazebalm bombs and keep the pit-traps in reserve.”

            “Ay, Lady Kel. They should be enough for this lot.”

            He walked away, giving quiet orders Biscuit would relay, and she saw men beginning to move towards the north tower. Her orders would put four hundred men along the outer alure—not one man per crenel but four, and the fire would be continuous at short, well-practiced range. They could kill all the attackers that way but the expenditure of arrows would be dangerously high, and despite visceral reluctance she knew she had no choice but to use some of New Hope’s concealed teeth even though that was exactly what the Scanran wanted.

            The keys for the bombs had posed a problem. Each was small, a long splinter of wood, but with bombs every fifteen feet along more than nine hundred feet of roadway there were over sixty of them. Five or ten could be broken in one go, but holding them was fiddly, so most had been loaded into three dowels, each drilled to hold twenty keys securely with one end projecting like teeth in a comb. Each dowel had keys to every third bomb, numbers carefully inked at the base of each—1, 4, 7, 10 …; 2, 5, 8, 11 …; 3, 6, 9, 12 …—so any individual bomb could be used on its own or all twenty detonated at once. Kel hoped one full dowel would be enough, and the regular pattern of exploded bombs, every forty-five feet, should not suggest that for every one used two remained. Carefully she lifted the first dowel from its slot, and taking godbow and quiver went down to the gallery in the fin. Only one squad was assigned there, and she stopped as she turned into it, seeing Alanna, Raoul, and Wyldon leaning against the wall. Alanna glanced up.

            “Hi, Kel. We were getting in the way on the alures—supernumerary to your excellent system, and none of us good enough archers to warrant displacing anyone. Mikal suggested we come here. Are we in your way?”

            “Not at all. Do you have bows?”

            “Oh yes—borrowed but good.”

            Alanna picked hers up from the shadows and as her eyes adjusted Kel saw Wyldon and Raoul had theirs beside them. She heard grunts of effort as they were strung, and smiled apology at a soldier as she asked him to move to another crenel and set the dowel down. The godbow was warm in her hand as she braced it to slip the string over the nock.

            “With fourteen bows here I can let more of them past Chargy before the bang. If the knights are leading—or Genlith, if he’s stupid enough—it’s better we four take them down. More fitting, I suppose. The King wants them dead, not captured for trial.”

            “What bang, Kel?” Raoul grinned, teeth gleaming. “Are we going to have some nice explosions?”

            She held up the dowel. “Twenty blazebalm bombs packed in rock fragments and gravel. All the way along.”

            “How much blazebalm?”

            She set the dowel on the rock before her. “A pound apiece.”

            “Gods, Kel, it’ll be brutal.”

            “Yes. And the King thinks treason trials will be messier.”

            “You’ve spoken to him?” Wyldon was frowning. “I haven’t seen you leave the gatehouse roof.”

            “Yes, we spoke. He said to carry on.”

            Alanna cocked her head. “Um, do I take it you told him about …?”

            “Yes, he knows and is probably listening.”

            “Ah. Cavall and Raoul do know they exist, by the way.”

            “That what exists, Pirate’s Swoop?”

            “Darkings. Some decided to volunteer. Kel and her captains have one, as do Barzha and Quenuresh, so we’re in touch.”

            A thought bloomed in Kel’s mind and she flushed as she turned to Raoul. “That’s how Barzha reported. I’m sorry I lied—I’d promised to conceal their existence for as long as possible.”

            “Oh. Well, needs must. Don’t worry about it, Kel. Darkings, eh? I remember Goldstreak alright.”

            She looked gratitude and he winked as Ebony squeaked in her ear.

            “Say hello now?”

            “Why not?” The dismounted knights were still organising men to rush the roadway, so she had a few minutes and part of her had always hated the secrecy, especially from friends and her own people. She took off her bascinet, shaking sweat dampened hair. “This is Ebony.” She felt her collar twitch as his head extruded. “Meet Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop, Wyldon of Cavall, and Raoul of Goldenlake. My teachers.”

            She heard squeaks of greeting and their replies, and was aware of soldiers gawking. She might have ordered them to get eyes back where they belonged but curiosity was better satisfied, and her gaze was locked on the men assembling beyond the moatbridge, seeing a formation take shape. Hired men, understandably, were reluctant to take the van, and from the look of it several knights would be there, with others among liege-troops and mercenaries. Did they suppose they could push the gate open, as they seemed to suppose the fire they’d face would be paltry? Even they couldn’t be that stupid, and a careful look through her spyglass showed two pairs of thickset men just behind the van, carrying little barrels that looked heavy. The traitors had blazebalm of their own and she interrupted Ebony’s squeaking to point out the carriers, passing her spyglass so everyone could look.

            “I’ll try to get them with bombs but if they get past Chargy they’re priority targets. And if you do hit one _watch_ where those barrels go. We don’t want anyone picking them up to carry on.”

            “Right you are, Kel.” Raoul passed her spyglass back. “If that’s blazebalm, though, it’ll probably go up with the bombs.”

            “Let’s hope.” Her voice slipped into command mode and she put her bascinet back on. “Eyes front. They’re coming.”

            She was deeply grateful that even the knights were on foot and she wouldn’t have to kill horses, but the scale of slaughter she knew she would inflict was a lead weight. Images of Runnerspring’s leaking hand and dead mules floated in her mind. Sixty-one and however many had seemed a lot to add to her personal bodycount, but when she snapped these keys those numbers would be dwarfed. The dowel should be burning her hands but the wood was cool in her fingers and she wasn’t even sweating, coldly determined to do whatever was necessary, whatever the cost. As she watched knights labouring up the roadway in half-armour, kegmen and straggling column behind, she spoke her prayer of apology for the Black God’s mercy aloud, asking it for herself who held the keys, and her people with all who fought alongside them, and traitorous or misled or hired fools running to doom. She knew her friends were surprised but her soldiers weren’t, and a choric ‘So mote it be’ affirmed trust in her, who in turn trusted the god whose face she’d seen despite the weight squeezing her heart.

            The knights had almost reached Chargy, and she identified Guisant, Garvey, and Belar of Heathercove, Quinden a little behind. The kegmen had dropped back, labouring under their burdens, and men with Genlith’s badge and Torhelm’s passed them, a gap opening up before the Grotens with liegemen and hired men trailing. She watched the knights stagger round the turn and push for the gate, ragged, whooping breathing clearly audible, but her eyes were on the kegmen, half-a-dozen strides short of bomb number 4, sixty feet below Pizzle, and the dowel was in her hand, keys against cool stone. Two, one, she bore down, feeling the sudden, rippling snap, and the roadway disappeared into fire and sound.

            Light blinded her and she felt rock tremble as roaring thunder battered her ears and echoed across the valley. A vast ball of glowing black smoke obscured the roadway and the stink of blazebalm burned her nose. She felt stunned, as she had when she’d first jousted and felt the hammerblow of Raoul’s lance on her shield; the hand that held the dowel ached fiercely but then the godbow was in it, warm and singing, and wrenching her eyes from the burning cloud she could see the knights who’d been in the van and the score of liegemen who’d made it with them not fifty feet away, gaping horror. Her first arrow took Guisant in the throat, her second punched though Garvey’s breastplate. She was aware in some part of her mind that he was the second fellow-page she’d killed and of his father’s blood as a shrieking stain on her conscience, but there were enemies at her gates and the godbow was eager. She fired three times more before the roadway in front of the gatehouse was clear of the living, and her gaze tracked down, seeing Belar and Quinden riddled with arrows and came to the long straight, heart hammering.

            The smoke had spread and lifted and the whole killing field she’d designed was becoming visible again. Fires—people—burned along its length, and she could smell the rank sweetness of charring flesh amid blazebalm stink. Every bomb had worked and every one had devastated, chopping great gaps in the running soldiers. Bodies lay tumbled; some had been blown over the outer edge to fall to the abatis or into the moat. Of the kegmen and their burden there was no sign, and from the glowing carnage where they had been she assumed their blazebalm had exploded too. Isolated groups left standing, singed and splattered, were being ruthlessly cut down from the alure and the gallery beside her; few had plate armour and at this range needlepoints went through chainmail and leather as if they weren’t there. Those at the very base and the lucky few who hadn’t made it over the moatbridge were pelting away, weapons abandoned in frantic haste, and she swallowed bile, working her mouth to wet it, and shouted the ceasefire.

            Where there had been more than five hundred men breathing and running a moment before perhaps thirty were still alive, scattered in ones and twos from two or three hundred feet below Pizzle to the base of the roadway. As they realised the murderous fire had stopped they began stumbling down, staggering round bodies and through bombzones, slipping on blood and viscera. The scraping of metal on stone when they fell seemed to echo in terrible silence, the faces of her people on the alure still as they absorbed what they had done and smelt the charnel-house she had created. Her eyes followed the rearmost man until she could bear it no longer and leaned through the embrasure to look across the valley. The Scanran soldiers who’d assembled in front of their camp to watch the charge were silent, rows of white faces in the long shadow of the fin. Before them was a knot of officers, the man she’d watched earlier among them. His face was turned towards her, and though she knew it was absurd at this distance she felt they were looking into one another’s eyes. His hand rose in a salute and he turned away, saying something; men began coming forward to meet the lurching survivors and gather the spooked horses the dead had left behind.

 

* * * * *

 

Jonathan had only seen the lookout post crowded with Councillors and found it more spacious than he remembered, with a warmth in the air he traced to blocks of heated stone. There were others to sit on and Tobe had brought cushions. There were also two soldiers with magemarks, but after offering an awkward bow one left; Tobe introduced the other as Sorin Carter, explaining that with them here the duty watch was reduced to one, and went to make tea.

            “Wiv the lads in the Eyrie we’re not so important, sir—Yer Majesty, I means—an’ we knows where the enemy is anyway.”

            “So we do, Carter. And don’t worry with the Majesties, please. We’re all Lady Kel’s men today.”

            Carter smiled, pleased with the sentiment if dubious of the claim, but his eyes were on the approaching army and Jonathan busied himself settling on a cushion. Vanget had done the same and caught his eye.

            “Like you and Her Majesty in court, sire, perched on either side.”

            “I was thinking the same.” He blew out a breath. “How bad is it?”

            “Not good, not hopeless. So much treason’s a bitter blow, and gods know what’ll happen when that news gets out, but militarily Kel’s right it doesn’t make much odds. And she’s been right all down the line about what Maggur intended. Mmm. Is that darking available?”

            “Yes, it’s in my—”

            Shale popped out of Jonathan’s pocket and onto his legs. “I here.”

            “So I see. Can you tell me how long you’ve been at New Hope?”

            Shale seemed to consider. “We come Midwinter.”

            “With Lord Diamondflame?” It was the only explanation that made sense to Jonathan.

            “We volunteer. Dragonlands all talk, think, sleep. No _doing_. No fun.”

            “So you’ve been here a month. Are you spying on Maggur for Kel?”

            “We not spies. We _communicators_.”

            “She wouldn’t conceal that, Vanget. But opportunistic recruiting once I dropped her in it? From somewhere completely impossible and without a word to anyone? That’s Lady Keladry all over.”

            “True. But I don’t understand why she concealed them so long.”

            “That’s my fault, I think. After the Immortals’ War I had visions of a darking network feeding me perfect information from everywhere, and Daine took it badly—told me to my face I was being no better than Ozorne and more or less ordered them all to the Dragonlands to learn about choosing. Now they’ve chosen someone Daine trusts to look after them. That speech of Lady Keladry’s was a relay, I’ll bet, and the message the same as before—hands off.”

            Jonathan was aware of Carter listening avidly and snatching glances at Shale but didn’t care, and Vanget was nodding.

            “Alright, sire, that makes sense, in a Kel kind of way. I suppose I should be used to it by now, but every time I think I’ve got a handle on what she’s doing she pulls something else out of her helmet. Commanding her’s like being on a runaway horse, you know.”

            Jonathan grinned. “I suppose it must be. Daine was the same, but her power was more … personal. About being Godborn and a Wildmage. Lady Keladry’s is different—she’s clearly blessed by more than one god but her power’s got no magic in it, for all magic’s involved, and she’s operating more politically.” He hesitated but they were going to come to it sooner or later. “I’d not expected what she did today, though.”

            “Mmph. You didn’t see her execute Rogal—she chucked after that too, and just like today stood back up, wiped her mouth, and carried on. Black God’s grace or no she _hated_ it, as she hated today, but if New Hope’s at stake and she can take the cost on herself she’ll do it in a heartbeat.” Vanget leaned back against the wall. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything braver, or done in colder blood. Carolan’s no coward, and always a confident man, but she broke him in what? three minutes?”

            “Not much longer. But I think you’re wrong about cold blood. I’ve heard her voice go flat like that … four times—after Joren’s trial; when she told Tirrsmont if he insulted her again she’d cut out his tongue; when she called three gods to strike Torhelm; and when she told me this last Midwinter I was playing a fool’s game with her people’s lives. It’s utterly controlled rage, and she can use it like her glaive.”

            “Huh. That’s what Wyldon thinks, so I expect you’re both right. I haven’t learned to see through that Yamani mask the same way, only enough to have some sense of what it costs her.”

            Tobe brought tea, with cups for Carter and himself, and sat on the steps. “Is there anything else I can get you, sire? General?”

            Vanget shook his head. “I’m good, thank you Tobe. This is your duty station too while we’re here?”

            “Yes. Everyone under twelve is confined to the caves during action unless ordered otherwise, so Ma said to make myself useful fetching and carrying. If there’s a sally call I’ve to saddle Alder.”

            “Fair enough. Your Ma likes things well organised, doesn’t she?”

            “You don’t get nowhere in a muddle, and then people die.”

            “I wasn’t complaining. Tell me, did you know about the darkings?”

            “Yes. Ebony tells me stories about the Dragonlands, when I’m going to bed, and shows pictures.”

            “They can do that?”

            “Oh yes.” Jonathan leant forward. “They can show what any darking has seen. Odd perspective, often, but useful. Can you show us, Shale?”

            “What see?”

            “Where Lady Keladry is, and what’s happening.”

            Shale rolled up the wall under the opening, flattening into an uneven rectangle. Colours swirled and a picture formed of the valley with a long tube sticking out—Keladry’s spyglass as Ebony saw it.

            “What’s she looking at?”

            Vanget heaved himself up, looking towards the gatehouse then across the valley. “Scanran wagon train. Just past Haven.”

            He sat, reclaiming his tea and scowling. “There’s a lot of Scanrans, sire—Maggur must be using everything he’s got.”

            “Too many?”

            “Maybe. Depends what their mages are like and how cleverly they fight. It’s not going to be pretty. I need to get to the spellmirrors, young Tobe, to find out how far Ferghal’s men have come.”

            “You must tell Ma if you leave here.”

            “I will. But it can wait—they’ll not be dawdling and I’m only fretting. It’d be good to—hello, what’s up?”

            Shale reblobbed. “Kel say, look at wagon train south of Haven.” Both men were up in an instant, Tobe between them. “Kel break sticks.”

            “Kel do wh—?”

            Tobe cut in. “Mageblast keys. It’ll be the rockfalls—look!”

            They saw the distant hillside move and heard the deadly rumble echo across the valley. Vanget was hopping up and down and Carter offered him the duty spyglass, which he snatched. Jonathan waited his turn to make out the chaos that had engulfed the Scanrans, and men beginning to try to rescue comrades. Vanget and Carter were sharing soldiers’ pleasure at a successful blow but Jonathan wondered about the men who’d died and what Keladry must feel about their slaughter. Her face had been terrifying as she broke Runnerspring but once he’d started talking it had been stricken, and when she’d returned after retching she’d looked as miserable as anyone he’d ever seen; not that it had stopped her breathtaking efficiency.

            “Beautiful, beautiful. That was his commissariat—a blow in the tripes and most of two companies as well. It’s going to keep them busy a while, so I’ll go talk to Northwatch, sire. They need to warn Riversedge to beware foragers. Shale, tell Kel I’m going to the spellmirrors.”

            “Telling.”

            He stalked off and Jonathan saw troubled eyes. “What is it, Tobe?”

            “The General shouldn’t give Shale an order like that. He didn’t say please or thank you, but Shale’s not under his command.”

            Jonathan suppressed a smile. “True. He’s used to giving orders.”

            “So are you but you say them.”

            “Not problem.”

            “It’s not right, Shale.”

            “No, it isn’t, and I’ll tell him when he gets back. He’s just worried.”

            “So’s everyone. That’s no excuse.”

            “True. Can you tell me about those rockfalls?”

            If it weren’t for Scanrans and traitors massing it would have been a pleasant afternoon for Jonathan, eliciting stories of what Tobe had seen at New Hope. The boy was innocent but not artless: royal failure to check Tirrsmont had been keenly felt but Tobe skirted it, and if what he said was rich in implication he was reticent about his Ma. There were glimpses of a wounded woman in his fierce protectiveness but his portrait was of a fabulous commander, not someone who tucked him into bed, and in the spaces he left you could have hidden an army. It was admirable but frustrating, for Jonathan badly wanted to understand the woman on whom he’d felt compelled to risk so much, and whose refusal to accept what to everyone else seemed inevitable was regularly standing Tortall on its head. He knew he had consistently, hopelessly underestimated her and was still doing so, hard as he tried, as if she were a test he was failing; part of his problem was her sheer potency, for if she could make Tortall a vastly safer place for Roald and Shinko to inherit she could equally cripple it. It had taken a long time and much persuasion by Thayet, Alanna, Raoul, and Wyldon for him to accept that the Keladry who’d emerged from Rathhausak wasn’t a plotter or planner but one of those far rarer people who did things in a way that made others follow, around whom the gods were strewing blessings to ease her path. And once he did accept it, it did him little good, for he loathed prophecy with all its impossible compulsions and uncertainties but she had never doubted what Shakith had meant; even now, when he’d joined her in trying to ride the timeway, whatever it was, and forced things to this gamble in hope of exposing the sapping treason into which his southern and eastern mercantile lords had fallen, he found himself blundering along behind her sure stride.

            Vanget returned, reporting that as Kel had predicted the besiegers of Northwatch, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Steadfast showed little inclination to attack, and that Ferghal’s men were moving. “Not as fast as I’d like, mind, but in the right direction.”

            The additional delay occasioned by arrows from the Eyrie cheered him, and Shale showed them Seed’s view from beside the archers, but the subsequent stir among Tortallan traitors had both men sitting straighter. Even though Jonathan had known in his gut Runnerspring and Genlith were conspiring and others must be involved, confirmation hit him hard, and the sight of so many knights riding against loyal troops was a twisting pain. The banal bigotry involved was expected, and he understood the economic changes that were the real cause of an attempt to preserve personal wealth and privilege by arms, but coldly agreed with Lady Keladry that their trust in Maggur was grossly self-deluding and knew he harboured royal and personal rage at the price these men thought it worth others paying for their gain. He saw the two knights with a truce-flag just as the walls blocked them from view, and studied the force assembling.

            “Are they really going to attack like that, on foot?”

            “I’m beginning to think so. That officer’s stirring them up.”

            “Isn’t it suicidal?”

            “It should be.”

            “Kel ask, instructions?”

            “Just to carry on, Shale.” He looked at Vanget. “At least some of the traitors will die. Frankly, I hope they’re all killed. It’d be cleaner and better than gods know how many messy treason trials.”

            “If they try a rush you might get that wish, sire. I’m beginning to think Kel was right, again—that Scanran’s using them as an expendable probe to make her use her defences.”

            “And leave fewer Tortallans for Maggur to reward if he wins.”

            “Huh. Yes, he’d like that.”

            Shale couldn’t relay speech as it could the image of Sir Guisant and Sir Garvey, but Jonathan could read their lips—a useful skill Sir Myles taught—and there was sneering contempt in both faces. When Keladry withdrew Shale reblobbed to repeat her orders and they watched with Carter as men began moving to the outer alure. The darking reflattened to show the roadway from straight on and above.

            “Where is … oh, that gallery in the fin.” Vanget rubbed his hands, face grim. “A grandstand view we’ll regret, I think. You might as well watch, Carter, instead of sneaking glances. No-one with line of sight is going to be looking anywhere else.”

            Sheepishly Carter came to stand beside them and Jonathan looked at him curiously, sensing his confidence. It wasn’t blind or bloodthirsty, nor did he think it had much to do with traitors; the man was scared of the larger situation and what might happen, but possessed of absolute conviction New Hope would not fall to this attack. When Shale showed the dowel it was Carter who explained. Vanget swore.

            “Every _fifteen_ feet? Gods. How big are the bombs?”

            “Dunno, sir. Wasn’t in the squad what made ’em. They was in jars.”

            He measured with his hands and Vanget swore again.

            “One pound, I bet. And packed round with rock chippings, you say?”

            “What I ’eard, sir. Didn’t see one before it was sealed up, though. Is that a lot, then? I never used no blazebalm.”

            “One pound’s a goodly size. Twenty pounds together with rocks is … more than I’ve ever seen go off.”

            “Ah.” Carter nodded sagely. “Lady Kel likes to be thorough. No point makin’ yourself future work, she says.” A grin lit his face. “Wish I’da thought like that when I was plannin’ ’ow to rob ol’ man Raxley of ’is savin’s, but then I wouldn’t be ’ere, would I?”

            “And that’s good? With all these Scanrans about?”

            “Oh yus. It’s bin the best year of me life ’ere, sir, an’ not just the grub. ’Smade me grow up, my da would say if ’e weren’t too drunk. That’s why I’ll be stayin’, if I can. An’ for all their numbers I’d rather be in ’ere keepin’ them out than out there tryin’ to get in.”

            He fell silent as the attack began. Hearing Thayet in his head Jonathan rested a hand on Tobe’s shoulder, squeezing when they saw Keladry brace the dowel against stone, hand whitening. As seconds passed and Sir Guisant reached the gate, then Sir Garvey and a dozen men, his nerves were screaming and only Vanget’s narrowed eyes kept him from stupidly asking, shouting, why she was delaying. Then he saw keys snap in a split-second ripple as the dowel cracked down.

            The blaze of light from Shale had them all stepping back, eyes smarting. Sound crashed across the valley as the darking showed flaring swirls and spheres of orange and red, and beyond them void air littered with debris, burning men and parts of men turning as they fell. But that sight slid to one side as knights and men at the gate came into view and the image trembled when the top of a great bow filled the foreground and arrows shot away to strike Guisant and Garvey, and others. Then the oranges and reds burned away, or fell to the roadway in clumps, and he saw his bitter wish had been granted a dozen times over, and still arrows flew. He went to the opening, seeing the swift rotation of archers at each crenel, stepping forward to fire and back to nock in a fluid, interweaving motion so pure it was a shock when it halted, men crowding around crenels to look down. Shale showed what they were seeing and he made himself look. Port Legann had been a bloody horror but he’d never seen such swift carnage, by weaponry or magecraft. This war had begun with the gods-cursed killing devices, and Keladry had met them even before she was a knight, beheading their maker less than a year later; now she returned their essence upon what had lain behind them a hundred fold—death by machinery, cold planning, and ruthless execution. The thought pierced him with a blinding understanding of what gods angry enough to intervene might rejoice in as justice; a dozen things, a score, fell into the new perspective and the terrible laughter echoing through it in the gods’ voices scalded him.

            “Gods.”

            “Oh yes, they’re about.” Tobe’s voice was an old man’s. “Irnai said Shakith was hovering, and others won’t be far off, I reckon.”

            Jonathan sat, feeling his age and intensely wanting Thayet to hold and be held by. Thoughts turned and he gestured the boy across so he could murmur. “Listen a minute. I don’t want to pry but if … your Ma has someone here, a friend—the kind she can cry with—go tell them she needs them, now. Tonight. She’s … had to do hard things today, even before … killing all those soldiers with the bombs. A bad, necessary thing, like executing Rogal. I’ll try to get her to stand down in a while—there’ll be a lull.” There would have to be after that carnage. “Make sure she looks after herself as well as everyone else?”

            The old man looking through Tobe’s eyes nodded, and a small hand rested on his arm. “Yes, sire. I’ll bring you food first.”

            “Not yet, please. I don’t think I’ll be eating for a while.”

            A smile warmed the boy’s face. “Ma would tell you to eat your vegetables. I’ll be a bit anyway—folks’ll want to know what’s happening.”

            Carter had resumed his post and Vanget, turning from silent contemplation of Shale’s images, heard this.

            “Point, young Tobe. You should talk to people, sire, during this lull. Kel’s circulating for exactly that reason but I doubt she’ll get to the civilians here, so you should. I imagine Wellam and Nond would be glad of news as well.” He grinned. “St’aara had ’em telling the children stories last I saw, with a dozen fellow greybeards looking on. Quite a sight!”

            It still was when Jonathan saw it an hour later, and he was careful to apologise to the children for taking their storytellers away for a moment. Telling Turomot no treason trials would be needed and that Heathercove, Groten, and Runnerspring were all now vacant fiefs while Torhelm and Marti’s Hill lacked heirs, he saw terrible satisfaction in the old man’s face. Nond was shocked speechless, but Turomot’s grave bow and murmured thanks to Mithros were a different kind of laughter, reminding him in another crackling extension of perspective that the Lord Magistrate had been Keladry’s second instructor in her Ordeal, driven by his indignation with Joren’s behaviour. She’d pulled him to her cause, as she’d pulled Raoul and Wyldon, and every knight of her year bar the one who’d just died, and immortals—basilisks, ogres, spidrens and stormwings, even dragons and darkings. And her rage, created over and over by insult, assault, and prejudice, too often with his complicity, was the tool gods were using to scour away those who paid no heed to their laws. How much of her would be left when they were done? He didn’t know where Piers might be, and was selfishly glad to be spared whatever Keladry’s father must be feeling at his daughter’s day’s work.

            The civilians in the caves were no less pleased by the news, though first-hand accounts from soldiers coming off-duty in search of food sobered them. So did Lady Kel’s decision no attempt should be made to clear the roadway—the Scanrans had made no request and obstacles were obstacles, but the contrast with her treatment of Freja’s and Rogal’s bodies was on all lips, with pity for the distress it must cause her and wonder at the stormwings’ restraint that turned to crude, relieving jokes about preferring raw meat. Morale was excellent, and Jonathan’s presence superfluous in that respect, but he found himself cornered by Fanche Miller and Saefas Ploughman and asked about the outcome of the inspection, if any. It took him a moment to realise the traitors’ arrival had aborted the Council session only that morning, and no announcement had been made; he told them what they wanted to know and seeing the news spread like dawnlight among mortals and immortals alike forced himself to a cheerful round of greetings. New Hope’s approval was the warmth of a fire and another part of the social as well as military structure Keladry had created here unfolded in his mind.

            When he returned to the lookout post Tobe brought food with a wink and Vanget told him he’d ordered Kel to get some sleep while she could, saving him the trouble. Carter had been replaced by a dourer man, also magemarked, who kept sharp watch despite the darkness and said nothing until Jonathan went to stand beside him, wondering what he thought to see scanning so carefully. The sight made him draw breath—gleaming icelight etched alures and reflected on sentries’ backplates. For the first time he could imagine what the lower city would look like with these things installed and the revolution they represented sank home—a change as radical as treaties with spidrens and as much a fruit Keladry was trying to glean in the shadow of the gods’ harvesting. Beyond New Hope the stonebridge and its road gleamed, but the fields were dotted with fewer campfires than he’d expected and he glanced at the soldier beside him, eyes still flicking in a regular pattern.

            “Do you search for something particular?”

            He received the briefest glance. “I checks the alures, Yer Majesty, an’ wevver there’s anythin’ on ’em there oughtn’ta be. Lady Kel thinks they might try gettin’ a small group in. The men ’ave bin warned but it’s belt _an’_ braces wiv Lady Kel, an’ I’m the braces.”

            Jonathan laughed softly. “Good for Lady Kel. I don’t like it when my breeches fall down.”

            “’Oo does, Yer Majesty? No one likes a draft there.” There was a ruminative pause. “’Im in the cell, wiv ’is ’and gone and talkin’ to Lord Gainel, would ’e ’ave found ’is breeches fell down?”

            “You could say that. He felt Lady Kel’s draft, certainly.”

            “Ah.”

            There was no reason to tell this man the story of Runnerspring’s treason—he didn’t even know his name but found himself talking about what he knew and thought had happened. There was much he couldn’t say but the great fracture of Duke Roger’s deaths was common currency, and the soldier, eyes never still, showed a shrewd grasp of the pressures that had eroded the political power his father and grandfather had by default granted lords who paid for one’s neverending wars of conquest and the other’s dearly purchased reputation as a peacemaker. The man also understood a surprising amount about what Keladry had come to represent for those lords, and Jonathan’s questions revealed the Corus knowledge of one who heard what Palace servants said and, more recently, something that had to be called research, driven by exposure to the woman herself. Clearly a collective endeavour with pooled results, it produced a sharp picture of a deadly fighter who stood by her word no matter to whom she’d given it, a new noble who knew what so many old nobles had forgotten, a woman infinitely kind and polite unless you crossed the line but implacable if you did, and whose blazing success had enraged any number of rich people a poor one had excellent reasons to dislike. It was a testimonial unlike any Jonathan had ever heard but another aspect of why people followed Keladry as they did unfolded in his mind with a renewed sense of the gods’ ironies and what might happen when they became manifest as justice and retribution—a convict teaching a king being the least of it.

            Vanget had laid bedrolls against the wall, and was snoring. Tobe had bedded down in the guardroom, his back to the embers of the fire, and Jonathan quietly built it up and pulled the boy’s blanket up before settling in his own bedroll. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept so rough—even on that interminable Progress he’d had soft linens and Thayet beside him, and his thoughts wandered back to days while his father lived and he’d ridden with Alanna among the Bazhir. The memories chased him into dreams where he followed Keladry across a sea of sand and the gods looked on, laughing at his inability to catch up.

            He woke before dawn, cold and stiff. Vanget and Tobe were gone, to wash and see to horses the sentry said, eyes still tracing alures; Shale was a blob beside him. Jonathan rekindled the fire and made tea, bringing the sentry a cup and receiving gruff, surprised thanks. The man was tense and didn’t turn his head at Jonathan’s query.

            “It’s bin quiet, Yer Majesty, but there was a lotta people movin’ among the Scanran fires a while back, an’ the darkin’ said the mage says there’s cloakin’ spells bin cast so Cap’n Uinse put us on extra alert.”

            “Numair?”

            “Yus, the black robe.”

            “Can’t he lift the spells?”

            “I dunno. If ’e can ’e ’asn’t.”

            “Have the alures been reinforced?”

            “Yus. Reserve’s on duty an’ Lady Kel called.” The man gave a sidelong glance. “Cap’n said yer might fight from ’ere, Yer Majesty, wiv magic.”

            “If there’s a target.” The Dominion Jewel was heavy beneath his shirt. “I could just about reach the alure.”

            “Huh.”

            “You’re surprised?”

            “I knows yer a mage, Yer Majesty, but … I dunno, I don’t think of yer as one, some’ow.”

            “No robe, no silly hat. And I’ve done little more than truthspells and firespeaking since the Immortals War. But I can blast if I have to.”

            “Ah.” 

            They watched in silence. The first hint of false dawn was dimming stars and Jonathan realised the sky had cleared. Would better weather be good or bad news? Bad, he thought, for Scanran archers wouldn’t have to be careful with bowstrings while New Hope was better placed to endure rain, with rock to walk on and extensive shelter, and boggy ground, damp bedding, and chafing clothes made fieldlife miserable. Were the gods bothering to influence things or was it just luck of the strange season? He didn’t know enough to guess, and Keladry’s sense of what the divine would choose to do remained a mystery, though Alanna might have some idea. He wondered where she and Raoul were, and about the sweep of events that had brought them from page days, when Raoul insisted they’d been puppies in a basket, all paws and tails, to this extraordinary fort with half-a-dozen knights and five hundred men rotting at its gates. How far back did a possible future begin on the timeway?

            His musing was interrupted by the sentry’s movement and a second later he heard shouts from the gatehouse, a blast of Numair’s magic and hoarse, furious bellowing. It was too dark to see anything icelight didn’t cover but men on the western alure were nocking arrows and producing slings that whirled and blurred as they fired at something in the hidden dark beyond. He was turning to ask Shale if it knew what was happening when a shout beside him brought his head back round to see a monstrous hand and arm reach over the alure by the gatehouse, crushing a man and scattering others as it gripped and heaved, and the bellowing head of a giant rose above the wall.

 

* * * * *

 

Vanget’s order to rest had been unwelcome but Kel knew he was right, and felt exhaustion pulling at calves and thighs as she walked the alure with Alanna, grimly congratulating archers and sending off-duty companies to eat, reminding visiting men the main kitchens had moved into the caves. She needed food but her stomach churned at the thought and she dreaded the dreams sleep would bring. Still, an order was an order, and already she could feel the combat rhythm she’d learned with the Own—sleep and meals snatched when you could get them, long periods of waiting when you might fatally let concentration lapse and feared to relax but had to if you were to survive the explosive bursts of action that could approach steadily or leap at you unawares. There was a reduced shift of cooks in the messhall, providing for duty men, and she went there, unable to face crowds and questions in the caves. The cooks made her up a plate, respecting the solitude she sought, and she forced food down, making herself think of poor Einur, hanged by Stenmun, and another army cook she’d known who made the best morning porridge, and anything except Runnerspring’s hand and the feel of the dowel in her own. Her behaviour terrified her, and the certain knowledge she’d do it all again, as often as she had to, that she could do anything at all to save her people, however vile, and vomit herself free of conscience afterwards, was a constant nausea. The Cow, The Lump, The Girl had missed it completely; only Mother had come close to her ferocity, and The Torturer, Slaughterwoman, Monster would have been truer. The Merciless. Tea washed claggy bread down.

            Her dark reverie was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder and Yuki slid onto the bench beside her. “Keladry- _chan_. How are you?”

            “I’m surviving, Yuki. Are Neal and Ryokel alright?”

            “They’re fine. Baird and the company healers are with us but there’s been no-one to treat, thanks to you.”

            She thought of green fire sealing a stump. “Only Runnerspring.”

            Yuki’s breath was sharp. “Him, yes. Baird says he is sleeping. He will live to stand trial. I was looking for you. So is Dom.”

            “Dom? What’s wrong at the corral?”

            She tensed and Yuki laid a hand on her arm again. “Nothing, Keladry- _chan_. He wants to see _you_ , not the Commander. Tobe sent him.”

            “Tobe?”

            “Yes. He thought you needed company, and he was right. Come now.”

            She let Yuki lead her out while she tried to process this and protested as chill air roused her. “Yuki, if there’s nothing wrong it must wait. I can’t—” Yuki interrupted and she blinked. Yuki never interrupted.

            “Hush. You need rest, Keladry- _chan_ , and should not be alone. Come.” She towed Kel on, releasing her at the headquarters building. “Go. You have the darking. You will be called if anything happens.”

            Kel could hear someone moving in a guest room, Wyldon or Raoul perhaps, but her side was deserted and her footsteps loud on the stairs. It was odd to see Tobe’s room empty and she was wondering again about what Yuki had said when her door opened and Dom was there.

            “Yuki found you then. Gods, Kel, you look all in. Have you eaten?”

            “Yes, in the messhall.” She swallowed. “Dom, I … you don’t want—”

            A pace brought him to her and she tried to step back but he grasped her in a fierce hug to which she couldn’t respond and steered her inside. He’d lit the fire but only one lamp and she let him unbuckle her breastplate, welcoming lightness while feeling renewed vulnerability. The gloom made it easier not to look at him, even when he sat beside her and rested hands on her taut shoulders, kneading tight muscles; not looking made it easier to speak, if not to say what she knew she should.

            “Is everything alright at the corral?”

            “All well, Kel. Some cavalry came to have a look but kept their distance and they’ve posted a picket force just round the fin. We might have to do something about that if we decide to sally.”

            “Right.” Another mental note joined the long, long list. “And Button’s kept you informed about what’s happened on this side?”

            “Beautifully. Good job with the rockfalls and getting the archers to try from the Eyrie. It showed me the attack, as well.”

            “ _Showed_ you?”

            “Yes. I saw their picket disappear round the fin and Button said an attack was about to happen so I went to my office.”

            “You saw that carnage?”

            “I did, Kel, and I’ve never seen the like. But better them than us, and you said we’d have to bleed them. It was necessary.”           

            “Yes, I know.” Her voice nearly broke. “The King should be pleased. He thought treason trials would be _messier_.”

            “Gods. There speaks a king. But I can’t say I disagree. I never thought to see knights ride against the army, and I’m very glad they’re dead and gone.”

            Enough of her shared that relief that she couldn’t argue, even with an image in her mind of raw, disbelieving horror on Guisant’s face. “No problems with Disart or Macayhill?”

            “None. They were all grim—asked what they should do and did it. Lord Imrah’s an excellent officer and the others seem disciplined enough. And the lads quite like having lords with them, oddly. All in it together, I think.”

            It couldn’t be avoided; he should know what he was touching. “I imagine they were grim, Dom. Watching torture will do that.”

            His hands didn’t pause. “Runnerspring, you mean? Uncle Baird told me.” Her gorge rose and she swallowed, forcing it down. “He said he didn’t think he’d even seen anyone more dangerous than you, or braver.”

            She twisted, emotions heaving. “ _Braver?_ To chop up a helpless man? I told the elemental knights should be more than butchers in mail—torturers with fans or … and I—”

            She couldn’t bear what she’d done to Cricket’s imperial gift and she knew there was something wrong with that thought. But his hands were pulling her to him and his human warmth, his strength, and she clutched him back as tears broke and the awful, impossible guilt and self-loathing spilled out with them. When she quieted his shirt was wet under her cheek and she felt as if she were floating an inch from everything, but his arms held her, his voice a quiet rumble.

            “Brave Kel, as brave as anyone can be. And cleanly purposeful, efficient, merciful, whatever you think. Hating yourself is probably necessary, like combat nightmares, but wrong too. And don’t think anyone else does—that’s silly. If your Cricket knew she’d be glad her present helped, as Yuki was, and Neal and me. Your glaive didn’t mind killing Rogal and your fan won’t mind this. Nor the gods, I bet. They’re admiring you tonight, as I am. Lady Kel, my Kel, so strong, so kind, so beautiful. Shh, yes you are. A bit blotchy at the minute, and sleepy after those tears, I hope. I’m here, and Ebony, so rest. Shh. Shh.”

            The muzziness in her mind was warm, the dark enticing. She woke an hour later, still in his arms, feeling purged. He had dropped off but woke as she sat, and she gave him a fragile smile and stood to make tea while he built up the fire. The fine Yamani porcelain and clean lines of the side-handled teapot were a blessing in her fingers, and the ritual of the ceremony the beginning of calm. They drank in silence, eyes on one another, and afterwards she let him undress her, too tired and grateful to protest. She didn’t think her body could be roused but the brush of fingers made her tingle and butterfly kisses forgave the horror she’d made of herself, tracing firelight on her skin until passivity drowned in need. At first it wasn’t so much the pleasure as his desire to give it, affirmation that she still stood among the loving and need revolt herself no more than she revolted him, but as heat banished tiredness her body insisted on her own desire as proof and way of being alive. This was what soldiers sought after combat, after killing others and courting their own deaths, and he recognised it—had anticipated it, she realised, marvelling—and understood she had to lose herself in him, taking his heat to fill her own shocked emptiness.

            When she woke again, the fire warm on her back through the blanket they’d pulled over themselves, it was to Ebony’s insistent squeak.

            “Awake? Uinse say, movement in enemy camp. Not know what. Tell people, be alert. Ask, you come?”

            Smoothly she sat up, feeling ease return and the restoration sleep had brought. “Yes, I’ll come. What time is it?”

            “Not dawn. Moon low.”

            If the moon hadn’t set it was two hours at least until sunrise. Dom had woken too, and reached to cup her breast. “Trouble?”

            “Uinse says movement in their camp and he’s called an alert.”

            “I’d best get back to the corral.”

            “Are you hungry? I’m starving.” They were dressing as they spoke, and there was a different pleasure in the ways they’d learned to co-operate, his deft assistance with the final tuck of her breastband she’d always found awkward repaid in her ease with his brace. “Let’s grab food from the messhall. If something happens it could be hours.”

            He paused in buckling her breastplate. “People will know.”

            “Good.”

            She kissed him fiercely, though armour made embracing awkward, and stooped to pick up Ebony. If he could accept her, love her, after what she’d done, she was through denying him in public. The only people who mattered who didn’t yet know were Neal and her father, and after what her father had seen her do pretending to virtue seemed pointless. Nor did she care about politics, and a cold part of her mind pointed out that most of those to whom scandal would seem opportunity were dead, and no remaining lord who might disapprove was going to utter a word. She wasn’t sure Dom understood but he didn’t object and while the mood was on her she swept aside another secrecy and told Ebony it need hide no longer. When it squeaked surprise she shook her head.

            “I’m done with hiding, Ebony. There were reasons to be careful but now the King knows and Maggur’s men are at the gates it’s pointless.”

            “What say? People ask.”

            “You’re a friend who’s come to help us. And whatever else you want.”

            “Friend?”

            “Yes, a good one. Now we must go.”

            The messhall kitchen was busy, Uinse having ordered tea and food brought to men on the alures, and they took mugs and rolls and left, parting with a handclasp and her murmured, hot-hearted thanks. He limped off without looking back, and she trotted to the gatehouse. Uinse was by the parapet with Numair and Harailt, tension in his body.

            “Lady Kel, there was noise and movement an hour back in their camp, then it cut off and I called Master Numair. He said it was a cloaking spell so I called the alert.”

            “Quite right. Numair?”

            “It’s a strong spell, Kel—a red robe at least. And it’s tied to the earth somehow, holding itself down. I can’t break it at this range, and it’s blocking the griffin bands.”

            “It’ll have to come closer, and then it’ll be easier to break, yes?”

            “Probably. There’s odd magic in it—old blood magic, I think. It won’t be easy.”

            “Alright. Will you sense it coming closer?”

            “Yes.”

            “Sing out when it does. Uinse, tell section sergeants on the outer alures to get keys to the rocknets. Use them at their discretion—if something’s sneaking up it’s still got to get over the walls. Griffin-fletched arrows for master archers. All military personnel on duty, but don’t wake everyone else yet—wearing ourselves out does no good. Except, maybe”—she thought hard—“yes, ask the basilisks if a couple will come to the _inner_ alures. If there’s something magical in the attack rock spells might hold it.”

            “Lady Kel.”

            She turned to the mages. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

            “Nothing useful.” Numair’s eyes were half-lidded in concentration. “I could explain blood magic, but it makes no odds. Gissa always liked blood spells. She could be adapting something learned from a shaman. They like blood spells too.”

            “Mmm. But it’s just a cloaking spell?”

            “As far as I can tell.”

            “Harailt, can you detect it?”

            “Oh yes.”

            “Numair, will you need Harailt to break the spell?”

            “Not if it comes close enough.”

            “Then go to the tower, please, Harailt, and watch the eastern side. Maggur likes two-pronged attacks—tickle and stab.”

            He nodded and went, and an uneasy silence came to the roof. Even usual night sounds were absent, Kel realised, nocturnal animals hiding from magic they’d sense. She risked a trip to the gatehouse privy, and returning through the guardroom saw a bundle of bloody arrows and an assortment of swords and spears with scorched shafts. Uinse was back on the roof and she summoned him with a crooked finger.

            “You recovered arrows?”

            He looked sheepish. “It was quiet, Lady Kel, and I’ve lads who are quick with hands and knife. They didn’t go far but got what they could—fifty-odd arrows and what weapons they could find. They was volunteers, my Lady, and the wicket bolted behind them.”

            She wasn’t sure it was a risk she’d have taken but couldn’t object to the gains. “That can’t have been pleasant. Thank them for me.”

            “It’s a mess out there, Lady Kel, but the ones outside the gate were alright. I did wonder about armour but movement started.”

            She shook her head. “Breast and backplates, yes, but otherwise leave it, Uinse. Move them away from the gate if you get the chance, though—over the glacis is fine. We can do without rotting bodies.”

            He nodded and they returned to the parapet. The pre-dawn air was chilly and Kel snagged another roll and fresh tea from the older children distributing them. Still concentrating, Numair flicked her a glance.

            “You look better, Kel. Good to see.”

            “Yes, I had help. Yesterday was … difficult.”

            “There’s an understatement. Were the gods present?”

            “Not that I know and Irnai’s said nothing. I think they’ve done all they’re going to do and are just watching now.”

            “Spectators at a joust? I can imagine that.”

            “More like parents in the Chapel of the Ordeal, maybe. Though the Black God must be busy enough.”

            “True.” He looked at her carefully. “You sound sorry for him.”

            “I am, Numair. I can’t begin to imagine the burden he bears.”

            “If anyone else said that, Kel, I’d say ‘of course you can’t’. That’s why he’s the god. But I suspect you say it because you _can_ begin to imagine, so I’ll just say thank you, for myself, and Daine and Sarralyn.” She nodded, grateful for his kindness, and he smiled. “Perhaps he gets his daughter and her pets to help when there’s a rush.”

            She couldn’t help her laugh and looked at him accusingly. Slaughter must surely have been present, and if one hyena, why not more? And for all the blood on her hands the satisfied part of her mind had no problem at all with Guisant and Garvey meeting them on their way to the Black God’s judges, nor with making the Hag bestir herself.

            “That’s a thought. Though what Cloestra told me about Ozorne’s fall made me think better of hyenas. And Daine was a fine one.”

            “Wasn’t she ju—hang on. It’s moving in, fast.”

            “Uinse, full alert. Tell me when it hits the moat, Numair.” She could hear arrows being nocked and raised her voice. “Slings too, people.”

            “It’s splitting up, Kel—eight, a dozen prongs. One’s at the moat below us, over it, climbing. Others at the base of the roadway.”

            Even with her griffin band on Kel could see nothing. “Break the spell.” She felt thudding vibration in the stone beneath her and raised her voice. “They’re coming—fire as you can.”

            Sparkling black fire streaked down, splitting into crackling streamers. One struck something on the glacis below the turn of the roadway in a coruscating welter of stars and streaks, others further along the glacis, and Numair shouted a word that made the air scream around her as the cloaking spell broke. Blackness cracked to reveal a dozen giants climbing the glacis, driving thick spikes to haul themselves up and stand on, roaring now they were exposed. Arrows were flying and she fired herself, godbow warm in hand, and heard a giant bellow, clutching the shaft in its eye, but no arrow could penetrate a giant’s skull and hitting shoulders and arms didn’t even slow them. Stones were more effective, producing roars of pain, but weren’t going to stop these creatures.

            A ball of magic shot from Numair to strike a giant’s head as it rose above the roadway, clinging rather than exploding; that giant fell, arms windmilling, and something broke with an ugly _crack_ as it hit the abatis. But the nearest one was still climbing, and she saw a huge foot gain the turn of the roadway. The gatehouse was too high even for a giant but the outer palisade wasn’t, and with two strides it planted a foot against the base of the wall, one great hand reaching for the merlon nearest the gatehouse. Running for the parapet on that side she heard a ghastly scream and saw fingers smear a soldier against stone. His head was rolling towards her and recognising the section sergeant she dived for the case of keys, flipping it open and snapping the thin sliver labelled _West–Merlon 1_ in its slot. Scooping up _West–Merlon 2_ to _7_ she stood again, to be deafened by an appalling howl as two hundredweight of rocks smashed into the giant’s feet, knocking it back to the roadway, skinned knees resting on the glacis and face flung skyward as it keened. Its throat was exposed and she slapped the mageblasts flat on the crenel, the godbow leaping to her hand from where she’d dropped it in her haste, and her arrow punched into the pulsing skin alongside another from the alure, then her second and third and more from elsewhere and the howl was cut off as it slumped, tumbling beyond the roadway out of sight.

            Numair and Harailt had killed at least one more each, the glacis trembling as falling bodies struck it, and more howls of agony, audible even through the ringing in her ears, told her others were using the rocknets. She used _West – Merlon 6_ and _7_ , then the bow again, sending an arrow directly into a cavernous mouth as it turned towards her and seeing a rock that must be from Ventriaju smash into its temple at the same moment; it fell, rolling away to bounce from the roadway into the darkness beyond. But at least two giants had firm footings on the edge of the shelf, towering over the palisade and sweeping men from alures with hands as big as horses’ hocks, knocking them through and over the railings into the killing field between the walls. She was aiming at the nearest for the second time when she saw Raoul and Alanna running towards it. The Lioness’s sword flashed across the back of the giant’s hand, slicing tendons, and it howled, lifting the hand away as Raoul came past to bring his warhammer down on the point of its chin. Its head jerked forward and his return blow, two-handed, slammed into the base of its nose, slapping the head back, silver blood trailing in air and wounded hand flailing as it fell, head striking glacis with a vile crunch.

            Beyond them, more than half-way to the north tower, the other giant had cleared the alure as far as it could reach, and resting both hands on the parapet drew itself up, swinging its leg high to jam it into a crenel and stand. It towered into the sky, head well above the men on the inner alure, and Kel realised it would be able to leap clean over the killing field. Numair was summoning a fireball but taking too long, power drained by breaking the spell, and as arrows flew from the godbow to strike its side, no more than pins to a bear, she didn’t think he’d be able to stop it in time. It roared triumph, kicking ponderously to send men flying, and was reaching for the inner alure when the shrieking, crashing rumble of the rock spell thrashed the air. Var’istaan had gained the inner alure and was stalking along it, mouth wide, and the avalanche of sound went on and on, the notes within it rising beyond hearing, and the giant was still. Open-mouthed, Kel saw greyness spread over its face and chest, accelerating down arms and torso with a crackling sound like treetrunks splitting in counterpoint to the noise of the spell. The last visible flesh at the ankle rising above the crenel vanished and the rumbling died, leaving the night abruptly silent.

            Blinking and shaking her head Kel swallowed to pop her ears, and saw the two giants still climbing the glacis above the base of the roadway had stopped, mouths open as they stared at the statue towering twenty-five feet above the outer alure, and she turned to Numair, seeing him arrested too, fireball dwindling in his hand.

            “Topple it outwards, Numair—now!”

            Shaking himself he nodded and swung his arm, the fireball curving away to pass over the inner alure and accelerate back to crack into the statue’s head, splitting the top away. The chunk of what had a moment ago been skull and hair screamed into the darkness and hearing distant shouts she hoped it had landed on watching Scanrans, but her gaze was locked on the statue. Infinitely slowly it was moving, tipping back, the foot jammed in the crenel acting as a pivot, and with outstretched arms utterly, weirdly still the head swung through a half-circle to slam into the glacis above the roadway and shatter explosively. Fragments whined away, producing a howl from one of the other giants as the stone foot at last came free of the crenel and the headless torso slid onto the roadway, pivoting over the jagged stump of neck and jaw to crash onto the glacis below and break into a hundred pieces that tumbled down to splash into the moat or bounce into the field beyond. The last giants howled and slid to the roadway, turning to lumber down and crash across the moatbridge, and the attack was over.

            Shaking with relief Kel drew a shuddering breath and rested a hand on Numair’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

            Her voice was hoarse and when she caught Var’istaan’s eye she bowed, seeing soldiers on the alure echo her movement. Uinse came to her side, offering a flask and she nodded thanks, swilling her mouth and drinking thirstily before passing it to Numair.

            “Alright, people.” Her voice still sounded rusty but it was carrying. “That was way too close but we’ve beaten them back. Good work, everyone. Sergeants, check sections and get injured to the infirmary.” She swallowed. “Dead to the gatehouse. Sentries, eyes out—it’s just the time for them to get sneaky. Captains, gatehouse in half-an-hour and we’ll take stock.” She saw Raoul wave lazily. “My lord?”

            “Just to say you’re all giantkillers now, Lady Kel. It’s a great relief to share the title.”

            Laughter and hoarse cheers sounded along the alure, and she smiled at her knight master who’d taught her so much, and so often had the right thing to say. “Thank you, my lord. Delighted to do you a favour. We’ve a way to go before we can bang them on the nose with warhammers.” Cheers swelled but a raised arm cut them off. “Get to it, everyone—wounded can’t wait.”

            Dawn revealed a grim tally. Seventeen men had died, six on spikes between the walls. Pulling them off was a vile job, and men who’d taken a full blow from a giant’s hand were pulverised, bone rippling under skin and blood leaking sluggishly as they were rolled onto stretchers. Another thirty were injured, five with broken longbones or skulls, the rest with cracked ribs and severe scrapes where they’d been sent skidding. Harailt was unharmed but so drained he was comatose, and was carried away, Ettenor and Numair trailing anxiously. More than half the casualties were Uinse’s men, duty watch when the alarm sounded, and the rest from the company Wyldon had brought. Both were with Kel as she saw coffins stacked between gatehouse and fin, and accompanied her to the infirmary. It was hard for Uinse who’d never lost so many before, and it didn’t occur to Kel she’d never done so herself, even at Rathhausak; she seemed to have been killing and burying for ever. Wyldon had been here too many times, and while she knew it never got easier Kel was glad of his strength and brisk manner.

            In a way the infirmary was cheering. No injured were in danger and some had already been released. Harailt was astonishingly better, as was Numair, who explained he had a bag of opals in which he’d been storing power and as well as refuelling himself had managed to refuel Harailt—a possibility discovered rigging the opal for Kel. The room was brighter for Yuki’s presence with other women, bringing food and imposing civility. Kel gratefully drank tea before heading back to the gatehouse.

            The scene was even worse than yesterday. Burned corpses had been smeared by giants’ feet, and hulking bodies lay scattered. One was across the roadway half-way up, another near the base; the rest had fallen to catch on the abatis—or not. Two floated in the moat, beginning to bloat. Fragments of the stone giant were caught in the abatis and decorated the field beyond. Besides the smell that would soon rise the giants in the moat were a risk, for men might cross on their bodies. The thought was driven from her mind as she saw Scanran shieldmen and archers advancing, and a moment later a volley rose. Her shout had men dropping for cover, but at least one wasn’t fast enough, taking the arrow in his shoulder. More volleys followed, forcing sentries to drop into the angles of alure and parapet. One volley ranged further, arrows clattering onto the messhall, and even people on the main level had to seek cover. Wyldon joined her with a grim face.

            “They’re getting sensible. The traitors were a probe and the giants a surprise that might have worked. But it didn’t, so now it’s a proper siege, wearing us down. Volleys on and off all day, all round.” His point was proven as shouts from the eastern alure announced another. “All night too—the range will be familiar and they’ll sneak in to try pot shots. And range in—they don’t know people have withdrawn to the caves.”

            “I’ll warn Uinse. And the children running food and drink will be at risk, and the animals unless …”

            Wyldon raised an eyebrow. “Unless what, Keladry?”

            “I was thinking about canvas.”

            “Canvas?”

            “Run some over sticks from the messhall to the steps …”

            “Canvas won’t stop arrows.”

            “Petrified canvas will. Let’s go talk to Var’istaan.”

            “ _Petrified_ canvas?” He shook his head. “It’s an education to fight with you, Keladry. And an honour.”

            It was another forgiveness of what she’d done to Runnerspring and the knights and men who’d followed him. “Thank you. It doesn’t feel as if it should be. Bombs and butchery aren’t what the code recommends.”

            “Protecting the innocent is, and the code says ‘in every way possible, while breath remains’.” He brushed away a hair clinging to her cheek. “I haven’t seen you break it yet, Keladry, in word or deed. Now, where will we find Var’istaan? I’d be glad to thank him anyway—I thought that last giant was going to jump right over the inner wall. Remarkable.”

            Too full of emotion to speak she slipped her arm through his and they went to seek Var’istaan and the others.


	27. Endurance

**Chapter Twenty-Seven — Endurance**

_9 – 12 February_

 

By noon stone awnings were in place, and badly needed, for arrows kept coming, some on flatter, some on higher trajectories, and despite the care everyone was taking injuries began to mount. More people were in the infirmary and there were two deaths—a Northwatch soldier who peered at the wrong moment, and a Mastiff man who didn’t duck fast enough. It was attritional warfare—Maggur had arrows to spare and the defenders could worse afford one casualty than he could ten. Nor could much be done, but Kel authorised master archers to use griffin-fletched arrows if they had a shot. It was cat-and-mouse, and Kel doubted more than one or two arrows found a mark, but they kept Scanrans honest. Stormwings began to help, dropping ordure that annoyed and rocks that injured; both made shieldmen twist aside, exposing archers to the alure. That delayed further volleys as dead and injured were carried away, but they were immediately replaced and firing continued.

            Fire arrows were tried, on trajectories that took them well out into the main level to clatter off rooves or stick in the green. They damaged only grass but the oily smoke was irritating and Kel detailed men as bucketeers, enjoying the puzzlement on Scanran faces as a tactic that should have worked achieved nothing. More ominous was the construction that began a good four hundred yards out from the moat. The rockfalls had been cleared and the remaining giants pulled the lumber wagons through to unload great baulks of timber and what looked like sections of a wheel. Even for giants they were clearly heavy, and violent grunts echoed as they heaved and carried. When assembly started flaring magic could also be seen, and after peering through the spyglass Numair straightened, scowling, to confirm Gissa of Rachne and Tolon Gardiner were present. What they were doing beyond controlling the giants he couldn’t tell, except that it must be augmenting bindings carpenters and smiths were providing; no-one could guess what was being built. When the wheel began to be assembled, and a frame to house it, Kel gave up speculating and went to find Tobe. When he saw her emerge from the top of the spiral he ran to her, arms outstretched.

            “Alright, Tobe?” He nodded, just needing to hold and be held. “Is Irnai alright? I didn’t see her as I came through the cave.”

            “She’s good. She helped me bring lunch up here and stayed for a bit, then went to the loom room. She said His Grace has good stories.”

            “Duke Turomot, you mean?”

            “Yes. Not Granda.”

            She hugged him again, knowing she’d have to find her father soon, and her eyes met the King’s over his shoulder. “And has His Majesty been behaving himself?” Jonathan grinned as Tobe nodded, and she stood. “Go find out where Granda is for me?”

            He slipped past to the passage and she nodded to Carter before greeting her commander and king. Given the presence of Shale she wasn’t sure what to report but Vanget forestalled her.

            “Congratulations, Kel—you’re doing a superb job, and you’ve hit them hard. Taking the commissariat out was excellent and you’ve slapped two attacks back, inflicting heavy casualties. Can’t ask for more.”

            “Those giants came very close.”

            “Close doesn’t count—they didn’t get in, and the Scanrans have settled themselves to weakening you and whatever that thing they’re building is. And time’s slipping away—Ferghal’s men’ll be raising the siege at Northwatch in three days, if this weather holds, and here in a week.”

            It was less than Kel had been expecting and despite her roiling fear of what the infirmary and coffin pile would look like in a week’s time she nodded. The King cleared his throat.

            “My congratulations also, Lady Keladry. The way your archers and slingmen rotate is superb. And I didn’t know basilisks had agreed to fight—nor stormwings.”

            “Thank you, sire. Basilisks are willing—for all they’re diplomats they’re predators. Ogres aren’t, though they’ll defend themselves. The stormwings … I’m not sure, but I think they’ve a grudge against Maggur’s mages. Numair says both were at Dunlath, and the spells controlling the giants work on other immortals so perhaps it’s payback time.”

            “Whatever the reasons I’m grateful, and I’d like to say so.” He smiled slightly. “If we promise to get back at any alarm would you give us the freedom of the caves? Shale will keep in touch, and I gather darkings your officers have are riding openly, so I was thinking civilians would like to see what’s happening too. I know Turomot and Nond would.”

            Slowly she nodded. “Alright, but _do_ get back here at any alarm so you can’t be cut off from the hoist. At a run—the gods like sweat, not assumptions. And be careful what you show, Shale—I don’t want anyone _seeing_ people they care for killed if we can help it.”

            The darking agreed, and Kel found herself leading the King down the spiral on an impromptu round. For him, she saw, the beating emotions of New Hopers were a strain, Councillors a relief, but for her it was the other way round—her people’s pride in themselves and fierce approval were balm, Councillors’ marked deference and shadowed eyes the wrong kind of reminder. It also meant she met her father for the first time since the Council session on her knees, with Turomot, Nond, and several hundred children gathered round, and could do no more than hold his hand a moment; his kiss on her forehead was reassurance she needed, and he joined her as they went on to loom room, Immortals’ Row, and—reluctantly—the cell where Runnerspring slept. His stump was bandaged, face relaxed in the grip of his own dreamrose, and the knowledge that she’d taken his hand and son in the same day a distant fact. When she withdrew, seeing the door relocked and thanking Jacut who’d come to open it, her mind was clearer, and going through the tunnel she dropped behind with her father and told him she and Dom were lovers. She didn’t know what she’d expected except to end a nagging sense of dishonesty, but he took her breath away as he gripped her hand warmly.

            “Masbolle? Good man. I’m delighted for you, my dear. Your mother implied you weren’t so alone any more and I trusted she was right. You’ve been able to share with him all that’s happened to you?” Speechless, she nodded. “Good, good. It must be a great relief. I don’t know what I’d have done without your mother and you’ve already endured so much more than we ever did. A shoulder you can trust to cry on is priceless, and if Masbolle’s given you that I owe him a great debt.”

            He peered up at her tears and offered a handkerchief. Benign irony was a welcome change and her nervous solemnity and wonderment at his grace dissolved in a hiccoughing laugh. Honesty was a palpable boon, and the thought flashed that however sickening the things she’d done in the last two days she’d done them before the highest witnesses there could be, open to the gods, and that was a cleanliness her victims could not claim. Dabbing her eyes she returned his handkerchief and they hurried to catch up. Touring the corral beside King, general, and father felt very odd but she managed to let Dom know her father knew, and create a space for them. Disart and Macayhill headed to the King when they saw him but Imrah remained on the alure, offering a lazy salute, and she climbed the ramp to speak to him.

            “It’s been quiet this side, Kel—just that picket. You could shift men to the main alures, I think, especially with darkings to shout if there’s need.” He gave her a long look. “I was very surprised but pleased to meet Button on Masbolle’s shoulder this morning. Had ’em long?”

            “Midwinter—and I don’t _have_ them now, Imrah. They’re volunteer residents of the Dragonlands.”

            He grinned. “Especially in the King’s hearing, eh? Don’t fret—I can hear Daine laying into him yet. But a word to the wise—he’ll be wondering hard how many might be elsewhere. Not unreasonably.”

            “There are none in Tortall save the nine here.”

            “But some elsewhere?”

            “Not my business, Imrah. They help their friends.”

            “They help Daine’s friends, you mean. Mmm. I think I can do that maths.” He shook his head admiringly. “Echoing Alanna was remarkable, Kel, but echoing Daine too, that’s food for thought—a banquet of it. And neither of ’em could have done what you did when you had to.” His face sobered. “Are you alright with that now?”

            “I’m getting there, Imrah. And I’ll think about shifting men. I might have to if casualties get bad, but I’d rather know what that thing they’re building is first. Have you seen it?”

            “Only by darking.”

            “Take a look, please. Oh, and think about how to silence that picket if we need to sally. If we get them used to the drawbridge going down, to let horses graze close in, maybe, withdrawing if anything heavier comes round, we could sneak a squad out to lay up by the fin.”

            “That might work.” He considered her. “D’you really think we’ll be in a position to sally?”

            “Yes, actually. Maybe only when Lord Ferghal gets here. But maybe before. It depends on the target. Oh, excuse me a moment.”

            Peachblossom was at the base of the nearest ramp, Nari on his mane and Jump trotting up towards her. She greeted the dog and went to Peachblossom, throwing arms round his neck and caressing Nari blindly with one finger as she breathed in the big gelding’s smell and felt his solid, warm bulk while she whispered into his coat.

            “I miss you so much, boy. I’m sorry I haven’t been around—so much is happening. Tobe’s told me how you keep visiting horses in line, and new sentries. Teach inexperienced horses about charging, if you can, eh?”

            His presence was a reminder of who she had been when she was only herself, staring at the shining peak of knighthood, and a testimony to survival against odds. She might have stood there all day if Dom hadn’t recalled her to business. Disart was fretting about not ‘doing his bit’, and she melded politics with sense by setting him to organise cleaning and checking weaponry Uinse’s lads had recovered and arrows the Scanrans were so handily supplying. Many broke when they hit stone but not all, and if they weren’t as good as those centaurs made they’d do well enough at shorter ranges.

            More interesting were the veterans, some of whom Dom was using as sergeant-majors to co-ordinate his many squad sergeants, with the rest leavening his inexperienced men. The patience and calm they brought to the younger soldiers was palpable, and she could see Vanget absorbing it, but the bonds they’d forged with convicts struck her most. On the surface one might think them very different—veteran regulars who’d always lived under discipline, for the most part with exemplary records, and despite injury come from retirement to fight, and men who’d fallen so far from the straight they’d only volunteered to get out of the mines; but however distinct their lives they’d started from similar places, and any one of them might have gone the other way. There was also a Corus commonality, the capital district over-represented in the mines and among veterans who’d been close enough to hear in time word spread by the quartermasters, that made for mutually familiar places and people. It also led to a question from a veteran with the accents of Mutt Piddle Lane about New Hope’s icelight deal with the Wardsmen, and her frank answer about the terms she’d required, with a wry comment about the form local negotiations might be taking, started a lively discussion to which she left them. The game of matching shaped icelight to location promised useful distraction if the corral stayed quiet, as she thought it would, and the puzzlement on Disart’s and Macayhill’s faces as they tried to comprehend what had just happened pleased her so much she winked at Imrah as she headed for the tunnel, hearing his guffaw as she laid a hand briefly on Dom’s arm before reluctantly walking on.

            The main level was less cheerful, arrows regularly clattering on alures and roofs all evening and through the night. The morning proved Wyldon right about ranging too, showing the ground between messhall and green littered with arrows and the nearer half of the green resembling a pincushion. Casualties continued to mount, more slowly as people became familiar with the best shelter, but hits tended to be serious and by noon five coffins had joined the stack that now spread the width of the shelf. Blue Harbour, lucky not to be among them, was in the infirmary with Baird and Neal trying to save a hand cut in half by a broadhead descending at a steep angle; so was Forist, who’d sheltered another man with a magical shield that hadn’t covered his own legs.

            The volleys were coming in on all sides, and though the gatehouse roof could be used for observation with shieldmen in place Kel thought it better to watch from the Eyrie. A large part of the problem, she realised, was that besides the knot of men and giants labouring where the huge wheel was proving recalcitrant, Maggur’s troops didn’t have much else to do. Cutting their food supply meant they’d run out sooner but they had enough now, and except for wood-gathering parties—which were, she noted with satisfaction, large, heavily escorted, and not very productive, hence the few campfires they were maintaining—they were simply waiting. Archery was a relief from boredom and possible even for conscripts—who after seeing the traitors’ assault were not going to try any direct attack, whatever the hard-faced officer threatened, until the walls had been seriously battered or defenders thinned to real inadequacy. So it was Kel’s job to keep them busy, a distraction to compound delay, and she didn’t have many options.

            One interesting thing was the final layout of the Scanran camp. The area occupied by conscript troops had ended up closest to New Hope, on the northern side. Patchwork tents formed a block running down valley, but no part of the perimeter, three loyalist companies having put themselves outermost in a thin cordon—as, Kel suspected, a barrier to nighttime desertion. Those conscripts weren’t held by hostages, only force and imposed routine, and could not be trusted on detached duty. That loyalists had to do themselves or ride herd on coerced troops, and such forays were the only place they were suffering real casualties. Quenuresh had let Kel know half-a-dozen men of the squads who’d gone after the centaur archers had failed to return, every wood-gathering party had lost men, and a half-company sent to investigate access to the cliffs had run into Aldoven’s webs, where younger centaurs irritated by Scanran interruption happened to be passing time, with severe results—barely two squads had made it back, and no officers. That was welcome, but Kel thought something more spectacular might be done and settled to a long, darking-mediated conversation with her immortal allies.

            By mid-afternoon she was able to begin warning people. Her captains had priority, and while they spread word among soldiers, and Fanche among civilians, Kel summoned King and Council to a meeting, held for safety in the caves, and in her blandest voice briefed them. Alanna, Raoul, and Imrah wound up laughing so hard they slapped their knees—it was obviously a commoner practice than Kel had thought—and if Vanget was too taken aback to be amused, and Wyldon not a man for such a display, both were intrigued; as were Numair and Harailt, for different reasons. Her father listened intently, beaming when she was done, and others were pleased something was happening, however they might struggle to understand what.

            With darking observatories in caves and corral the show began as dusk thickened, stormwings rising from roosts all along the valley to mill about as low as they deemed safe. They let loose their massed ability to induce fear, and even on the alures washes of panic could be felt; on the ground the effects were severe, bringing arrowfire to a halt with even loyalist troops blanching and casting themselves down as it swept over them. A moment later three griffins joined the stormwings, repeated cries echoing from cliffs and crags. Sparrows and other birds that wouldn’t normally fly so late swooped and spiralled, making all the noise they could, and dogs howled from alures. It all made what Daine would call a fair racket and set up the Scanrans for the appearance over Spidren Wood of a great, glowing ball that cleared to reveal a large, dark red dragon. The stormwings shrieked, flapping furiously to perch on the fin, while the griffins headed for the dragon with more cries, circling to fall in alongside as an escort when it began to move.

            A long forked tongue flickered between fangs and enormous silver claws gleamed as slow wingbeats brought it to hover over Haven, and then further, peering at the Scanrans. The huge head swung menacingly, and even on the gatehouse roof Kel and her shieldmen could smell sulphur and an indescribable reek of hot iron and flint. It hung there for several minutes, griffins circling above; then they broke away, climbing steeply as streamers of fire flowed from the dragon’s forepaws to hang in the air, shaping themselves into Scanran runes, Ctheorth and Yr, which together meant ‘fire-bow’ and happened to occur repeatedly in a popular saga in which a dragon took fatal exception to a clanchief who marched against it. They turned in air, visible to all, before flaring and vanishing with the dragon, with what felt for all the world like a gust of wind, though no-one’s hair stirred. Beside Kel, Numair and Harailt, who’d demanded to see first-hand, breathed admiration.

            “That’s the best illusion I’ve ever seen, Kel, by a long way. You weren’t joking about Quenuresh. But Gissa and Tolon will be able to tell.”

            “The giants might too—I’ve no idea what if any magic they’ve got—but they can all explain it was illusion till they’re blue. It won’t make a jot of difference to anyone save loyalists and not all of them. And they’re welcome to try when everything that flies reacted, and dogs.”

            “The smell was a good touch.” Harailt sounded like the university dean he was. “The runes, too. Numair, it was like that description of dragons—imaginary dragons—in the _Hamrkengingsaga_.”

            “ _Eald uhtsceatha, nihtes fleogeth fyre befangen_. That’s why the griffins agreed—they were dubious about taking part in a trick, but using what Quenuresh said they called ‘mortal song-lies’ made it alright.”

            Harailt blinked. “Forgive me, Keladry, I didn’t know you were a scholar of Scanran sagas. Nor that griffins were”

            “Oh, I’m not, Harailt. But Kitten spent considerable time correcting Stanar after he’d told that one, and Junior reported to his ma and da, who approved. Truth and accuracy over song-lies, and visiting song-lies on those foolish enough to believe them is acceptable punishment for assailing a place Lord Diamondflame blessed.”

            “Oh. My. I see. I think.”

            Numair sharpened. “ _Blessed_ New Hope, Kel?”

            “Um.” She held a brief internal debate before reaching up to stroke Ebony in the sign they’d agreed meaning she was about to say something she didn’t want communicated to anyone not present, and waited a few seconds for it to squeak acknowledgement. “I wouldn’t tell the King just yet, but if I live through this butcher’s shop and we all come out on the sunny side of the timeway Diamondflame may make good his threat to send young dragons to the mortal realms for, um, seasoning. They’ll come here, to meet basilisks, spidrens, ogres, centaurs—and mortals. You could think of it as a Guild College, Harailt—fostering goodwill and trade between species. It’ll put New Hope on the map in a different way.”

            “I should say it will, Keladry. My word, indeed. But you said ‘may’?”

            “We have to survive, Harailt, and the timeway has to turn. But Diamondflame doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, in my experience.”

            “Nor mine.” Numair’s eyes were dark. “That’s still not a blessing, Kel.”

            “No, there’s something else—a gift Diamondflame made the timeway in this place—but I’m not going to talk about it. Extend your magic to Chargy and his friends, if you like—carefully—but don’t talk about it. If it comes to that everyone will know, and if it doesn’t I’d as soon no-one learned. File under ‘darkings’, yes?”

            “Oh, yes. Gods. Thank you, Kel. I’ll explain later, Harailt. We’re missing more fun. Look.”

            The Scanran camp was a swarm of disturbance, with voices raised in angry shouts. Before long fights broke out, and though loyalist fists seemed to prevail the sullen note in the continuing buzz and the restlessness of all Scanran troops as night settled in without any resumption of arrowfire was a satisfaction for everyone. After eating Kel slept dreamlessly for a solid eight hours while Act II played out, and was on the north tower roof with Numair two hours before dawn when Ebony’s squeaked report from Quenuresh confirmed everything was set for Act III. Kel was standing at the angle of New Hope’s walls, squads of shieldmen on each side, under Jacut, and Numair and Harailt could add magical shields but had other tasks. Kel sent up a prayer.

            “Whenever you’re ready, Harailt.”

            “Eyes shut and hands on ears, everyone.”

            They obeyed but even so Kel saw the red flare and heard the siren shriek as a ball of magic soared above the valley and expanded into a globe of light starkly illuminating the Scanran camp. As noise faded Numair laid a cool, thin hand on the back of her neck and she felt the pulse of magic surround her mouth. When she spoke her voice crashed out like Lord Sakuyo’s thundering laugh, the harsh gutturals and buzzed sibilants of Scanran echoing from crags.

            “Men of Scanra, heed me well. Some of you are here because you are loyal to Maggur Reidarsson. More of you are here because your clanchiefs ordered you, with an axe at the throats of their wives and children, or someone held an axe to your own throats. But you are all here, and you have all seen the fiery runes. Do you think the dragons will care who is loyal and who unwilling?” Kel sent up another prayer, of apology and necessity, and felt Lord Sakuyo’s calmness rise in her chest. “Make no mistake, Maggur Reidarsson began this war with vilest necromancy, the murder of Scanra’s children to make killing devices. Doing so earned the gods’ loathing and they have blessed New Hope in word and deed.” That was very carefully worded and she heard Sakuyo’s laughter as her hand rose to her chest. “I, Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, Protector of the Small, commanding here, who slew Blayce the Gallan and Stenmun Kinslayer, and burned Fief Rathhausak, and have died and seen the Black God’s face and been returned, do swear by all gods that I speak truth, and in sign of it make the gods’ circle.”

            She did, and chimes rang across the valley through the echoes of her voice, unbearably loud and sweet, resonating in her skull.

            “If you are wise, men of Scanra, go now, not looking back. The loyalist troops who penned you in are dead and your way north clear. If you are pursued by those determined you should die with Maggur Reidarsson, take to the woods—if you are unarmed and offer no violence spidrens and centaurs will let you pass and feed you for your journey. Heed me—your chance to live will not come again. Take it while you can, or the stormwings will play with you as well as Maggur Reidarsson over the Greenwoods when this war ends.”

            She hadn’t intended that last sentence but it pulsed into mind and mouth, and as she spoke it a hawk screamed overhead. She could see the bearded officer furiously hustling archers forward but he was too late—Harailt’s light was fading and she was done, reaching back to tap Numair’s thigh. His magic withdrew and her voice sounded to her as if she was whispering.

            “We should get down in case they lob that volley in for spite.”

            In the stairwell she dismissed Jacut and her shieldmen with thanks, and went to the tower captain’s office with the mages, light-headed and weary. Mikal had duty, and Terres and Ennor were with him. The room was crowded and her head threatened to spin; she sat abruptly in the only free chair and Numair swiftly rested a hand on her head.

            “Get Baird, someone. She’s drained and needs a boost.”

            Someone clattered downstairs. Mikal sounded alarmed. “Drained? From the amplifying magic? You said—”

            “It’s not that. Divine power, I think. Didn’t you hear the hawk when she said that last thing? If that wasn’t Shakith I’ll eat my robe.”

            “Mmm.” Kel wasn’t feeling bad, just as if eight hours more sleep would be a splendid idea. “Wasn’t Shakith’s power, Numair. Don’t think so, anyway.”

            “Not blind god. Laughing god.” Ebony’s squeak was definite.

            “Laughing god?”

            “Lord Sakuyo. He liked the joke, you see. I hoped he would, and he didn’t mind the oath being so carefully worded, so he did his extra-loud chimes trick. Really pure tone, too, like Yamani porcelain.” She thought he’d like that. “The hawk was Shakith. Hadn’t you realised she’s siding with the tricksters? Otherwise why warn George off praying here?”

            Numair sat, heavily. “You think … Shakith _and_ the tricksters _and_ the Goddess …. Gods!”

            Kel nodded sagely. “Funfunfun.”

 

* * * * *

 

She didn’t get eight hours, but after Baird had trickled green fire into her, leaving her simply sleepy, she made it to her rooms for three and woke clear-headed and ravenous. Arrowfire hadn’t resumed, guards looked pleased to stand straight, and after snatching breakfast she made her way to the gatehouse roof. Alanna, Raoul, Wyldon, and Imrah were there with Uinse and Brodhelm and most of the gatehouse watch; hearing her steps Alanna turned, face split by a grin.

            “Kel, you wonder—come see what you’ve wrought.”

            The Scanran camp looked very different and it took Kel a while to work out what she was seeing. Most obviously, the conscript forces were gone, and a trampled swathe through what had been the northern perimeter and beyond showed where. Her first thought was vast relief that she wouldn’t have to use the remaining bombs or worse on men forced into the killing field, with a satisfaction that if loyalists wanted to attack they’d have to do it themselves. Her second was appalled realisation that the spidrens must have most of two thousand fleeing Scanrans on their hands and her mind churned.

            “Has anyone spoken to Quenuresh?”

            “Relax, Kel, it’s taken care of. They were running before Baird’s healing pushed you under and Brodhelm spoke to Quenuresh. He’s had men hauling grainsacks up in the hoist since dawn and the griffins are taking them to Aldoven’s people. They’re doling out rations and sending shivering Scanrans on their way. Honouring your word.” Alanna grinned wider. “Then real fun started with the coerced troops. I believe they feel their clanchiefs’ wives are no longer a good enough argument.”

            “Say rather their clanchiefs would not order them to obey a man opposed by dragons and manifest gods, whatever the personal cost.” Kel hadn’t seen Zerhalm among the soldiers. “An unpopular war is one thing, a visibly cursed one another.”

            “And any attack being suicidal for the van isn’t encouraging.” Raoul laid a long arm across her shoulders, smiling. “They’re not happy people at all, Kel, and Alanna’s right that you’re a wonder. It’s beautiful.”

            Kel stared down at the tense confrontations going on below in loud-voiced blocks and knots. “They’re still here, though.”

            “Yes, they have their honour, Lady Kel.” Zerhalm’s sober voice was a relief. “They will not run, but I think they will no longer fight. It is for Maggur to prove he is not opposed by dragons and gods, and he can only do that by taking New Hope and surviving.” He gave her a long look. “Did you mean to deny his rule by _blódbeallár_ , Lady Kel?”

            “More or less.”

            “ _Blódbeallár?_ ” Wyldon frowned. “Because she burned Rathhausak?”

            “To sack the clanhome, yes, that is the essence, my Lord. It is what Maggur did in his internal conquests. But the challenge was never proclaimed, until Lady Kel made it this morning, stating her deed and calling Maggur Reidarsson by bare name before his whole army.”

            “And the difference is?”

            “Before he wanted to kill me, Wyldon. Now he has to, and if I’ve got it right, until he does the oaths he’s extracted using that tradition become _beado-gewrithan_ —battle-tied. I’ve done to him what he’s done to others and if he can’t do it back he’s in trouble.”

             Zerhalm was nodding. “The hostages are held by oaths made under the laws of clanchief challenge. Lady Kel’s position is anomalous, but the flames at Rathhausak spoke loudly—and now she has spoken louder.” There was irony in his eyes but respect in his voice.

            “You intended this, Kel?”

            “The attacks on Mindelan made me think Maggur took _blódbeallár_ seriously enough to make it worth playing odds. But I’d no idea what would happen—I just wanted to give him the biggest headache I could.”

            Raoul’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Well, you’ve done that alright. But don’t you go offering single combat or anything silly.”

            “Different rules for that.” Kel noticed a ripple among the Scanrans below and the noise of arguments faded. “Zerhalm, what’s happening? Where’s the spyglass?”

            Imrah passed it and after a long look Zerhalm offered it to her, a strange expression on his face. “I think more congratulations are in order, Lady Kel. You’ve drawn the Wolf. That’s Maggur and Sven Bjornsson sitting down to argue with the senior clansmen present.”

            Bjornsson must be the hard-faced officer who’d been in charge but her attention was on the Scanran king. He wasn’t a nothing man like Blayce but in Stenmun’s mould—big, carrying more belly but probably as strong, with that same hardness of face and manner. His hair was darker than many Scanrans’, more bronze than blond, and heavily braided; his beard was darker still, full but close cropped; and while his posture made it hard to judge Kel thought his attitude combined menace with wariness, while the men ranged opposite him and Bjornsson showed caution and defiance. Part of Kel badly wanted to get a darking close enough to hear but it was too late for that. Reluctantly she surrendered the spyglass to Wyldon, eager to see the enemy wise Tortallans had feared for a decade and they’d all been fighting for three years.

            “What do you think will happen, Zerhalm?”

            “I honestly don’t know, Lady Kel. The situation you have created is … complicated.” He sounded appreciative. “I will be surprised if Maggur does not have to compromise. You have put him and Sven Bjornsson under enormous pressure, and they are far from home. He has a lot less freedom here than in Hamrkeng.”

            “And a lot less men than yesterday.” Alanna was still grinning. “Leaving Genlith’s traitors out of it he’s down nearly two thousand overnight. D’you have a tally for their casualties?”

            Kel waggled her hand. “Sixty plus loyalists in the rockfalls, at least another fifty experienced men in the woods, half-a-dozen archers, and fifty-odd loyalists the immortals killed last night.” Aldoven’s spidrens, and some centaurs with useful hands, had gone in under Quenuresh’s strongest cloaking spells. “So one-sixty plus dead, most loyalists, and two hundred wounded, but I’ve no idea how many of those are back on duty.”

            “So … five, maybe six percent of the loyalists gone, and all the conscripts—call it two thousand. And half his giants, including the biggest. More than a quarter of his force, and nothing to show for it. If the coerced won’t fight he’ll be at less than fifty percent effectives.” She shook her head. “Remind me to buy you anything you want, Kel.”

            “We’re in agreement again, Pirate’s Swoop.” Wyldon passed the spyglass to Raoul. “If you write one of your understated reports on this, Keladry, you’ll make a fortune selling it as a textbook. Not that anyone could emulate this trick of yours, but it is the shrewdest blow. I don’t think there’s a word for it.”

            Kel shrugged. “Neal calls it spiritual warfare. We learned it at Rathhausak. The elemental started it with Irnai, smoothing my way, and though I burned the castle to destroy Blayce’s workshop, when I saw it lit up behind us I knew I’d attacked Maggur’s legitimacy, not just his property. It was in my verbal report.”

            “So it was. _Know your enemy_ , indeed. And plainly the gods approve.”

            She waggled a hand again. “Lord Sakuyo does, Wyldon, and perhaps Shakith. I don’t know about the others, so don’t go assuming, please. I’d say it’s more that I’ve used leeway they’re willing to grant, because of the necromancy and the whole timeway thing—so they’ve tolerated.”

            “Which isn’t the same, though I suspect you’re selling yourself short. Lord Mithros has always approved the cunning of a warrior, especially one who’s outnumbered.”

            “And the Goddess will like granting the prayers of two thousand women and their children, Kel.” Alanna transferred her grin to Wyldon. “We _are_ in agreement again, Cavall. What in Tortall shall we do about it? People will talk.”

            “Try calling one another by name for starters. Before you know it you’ll find you get on.”

            Kel ducked Alanna’s and Wyldon’s equally indignant stares and set about her overdue morning round. With darkings relaying images in cave and corral everyone was so well informed about the diminution of Maggur’s forces Kel found herself damping excitement rather than trying to boost morale. There were still most of three thousand loyalists and more than a thousand seasoned troops ringing New Hope, and none had yet given up; enjoy the lull, yes, and be cheered by the mass desertion, but don’t, _don’t_ relax; it’s _not_ over, the next phase _will_ be brutal. And so the litany went through the morning, as elation was superseded by renewed resolution, albeit very cheerfully for men facing odds that might be worse than five-to-one, and included giants and serious mages.

            She ate lunch in the caves with Irnai, who said Shakith was close, and went on to the King and Vanget. After enduring congratulations, and hearing welcome news that Ferghal’s men were within a day of Northwatch, she had to explain _blódbeallár._ Vanget scratched his head.

            “So that’s what their debating is about. What’s the outcome you’re hoping for?”

            “At best, coerced troops stand aside and wait for Maggur to win the _blódbeallár_ challenge with his loyalists. At worst he browbeats them into attacking but they come in resentful with _very_ shaky morale.”

            “And if he wins he’s clear of it?”

            “Oh yes.”

            “And if he loses?”

            “I’ve no idea, Vanget. The Scanrans go home and pick someone sensible who’s still alive, I suppose.”

            “Won’t you be lord of Rathhausak, though?”

            Kel stared. “Gods, no. There is no Rathhausak any more, neither castle nor village. All his surviving liegers are already here anyway.”

            The King’s voice was grave though his eyes weren’t, entirely. “Actually, Keladry, Vanget’s right. In old Tortallan law you’d have to kill the lord in single combat, with the fief declared at stake and my consent to the challenge, but as best I understand _blódbeallár_ —I’ll check with Turomot, though what he’ll do without ten clerks to summon I can’t imagine—if Maggur dies here you could claim Rathhausak.”

            “Don’t even think about it, sire. Rathhausak’s not yours to convey, and I’ve already one burnt-out dwelling to deal with here.”

            Haven was visible and she didn’t have to point. Vanget shook his head and the King winced. “You do have a way with words.”

            “Good.” Kel found herself possessed of a magnificent fit of bad temper Yuki would rightly have told her was entirely shameful. “And we haven’t _won_ yet—honestly, I’ve been having to point that out all morning. The men who’ve deserted were ones I was _hoping_ not to have to kill, and that goes for coerced troops too. The loyalists we’re going to _have_ to kill, one way or another, there are all but three thousand of them, and unlike those other poor fools I slaughtered they know _exactly_ what they’re doing. Practice your weapons. And eat your vegetables.”

            She stalked out, hoping the last phrase would soften the scold, and heard Vanget laugh but not the King. After a minute’s thought half-way down the spiral she detoured to find Duke Turomot, who was interested to know His Majesty feared he might be reliant on clerks and delighted to meet Stanar, then her father, who listened with bright eyes before promising to help thwart any plan to make her Lady of Rathhausak.

            “All else aside, my dear, it could be argued that if you were confirmed in that clanchieftaincy you should inherit the Bloody Throne—certainly a seat on the Council of Ten. I’d not wish that on any child of mine and diplomatically it’d be a frightful embarrassment.”

            “Papa! You’re as bad as Jonathan.”

            “Am I, my dear? I expect so. First time I’ve heard you use the King’s bare name, though.”

            “Gah!”

            Fulminating, she left him chuckling and went to compose herself at the shrines by telling Lord Sakuyo firmly there was a limit and she really would not be happy if he tried to exceed it. There was no reply, and after more sensible prayers to all the gods in their niches she went to the corral and amused Dom with the story, deeply appreciating that neither he nor any of the veterans’ needed telling that nothing was over. They hadn’t yet been in action, they knew unfinished business, and the news Maggur was in the field had set a new mark for when it would be over. While she was there Wolset and his squad came by with lunch to see Dom and she ate with them; they too were sober if appreciative of her trick, and she blessed the irrepressibility that ensured Wolset couldn’t resist teasing her, despite the stature the last few days had given her among all the soldiers at New Hope.

            “Wot it is, Lady Kel, is you’ve bin right all along. You said there’d be a battle ’ere in the Greenwoods when no-one else knew, an’ there is. You said it would look bad as can be, an’ it did. You said it’d be a lot better than it seemed—’ard goin’, all the same, but better—an’ it is.” Thoughtfully he fed an apple to Peachblossom, who’d come to join them and slobbered recognition on his shoulder. “An’ so far you’ve ’ad an answer for everythin’ wot the Scanrans ’ave tried, even them giants, an’ very bad mannered they was. So it stands to reason you’ll ’ave an answer for anythin’ else ’Is Beardness out there comes up with, dunnit?” He grinned lop-sidedly. “’Oo’d be an officer? Bad enough bein’ a sergeant, an’ I’ve you to thank, Lady Kel.”

            “Hey, I didn’t promote you, Wolset. Blame my lord.”

            “You made me a corp’ral, Lady Kel, at Forgotten Well, cos I knew we ’ad to trap that killin’ device’s ’ead, as if it weren’t obvious to any looby, so I blames you for settin’ me on the wicked road to command.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “My ol’ Ma ’ud be turnin’ in ’er grave if she was dead. As it is she’s spendin’ me pay on spintries an’ song from wot I can make out, the ol’ darlin’, an’ expectin’ me to make captain any minute. You’ve a lot to be answerin’ for, Lady Kel, gods be thanked.”

            She returned to the main level laughing but thankful Dom hadn’t yet told his former squad about their relationship and wondering if he’d told Neal, but she was spared a trip to the infirmary by a wave from Imrah on the gatehouse roof and a simultaneous squeak from Ebony.

            “Just looking for you, Kel. Their debate seems to be over.”

            “With what result?”

            “Not sure, but the giants and a bunch of men got started on that construction again a while back. The wheel-thing’s in place now—must be some kind of winding gear though I’ve never seen the like.”

            They reached the parapet, where Alanna, Wyldon, and others were still observing. Ruthlessly she sent Brodhelm on a round of the alures, and seeing the hoist going up with grainsacks contacted Quenuresh to make sure all was being done that should be. Prowling, she saw Numair, not wearing his jerkin, working with Petrin on a merlon next to the crenel from which the petrified giant had fallen, Var’istaan standing by, and trotted down to discover the problem—a crack across two sides—and summon a shield squad with pointed words. A chastened Numair was explaining he thought the giant’s foot must have expanded when petrified when he realised Kel wasn’t listening.

            “What is it?”

            “They’re taking down tents, but not packing to leave.”

            They weren’t, but after half-an-hour it was clear the coerced men _were_ withdrawing from the battle. They moved about a mile up the valley, setting colourful standards about their perimeter interspersed with truce-flags, and Zerhalm confirmed formal declaration under _blódbeallár_ that they awaited the result of a fight. It was the optimal outcome Kel had hoped for but freed the loyalists to turn attention back to New Hope, and volleys started again from considerably closer in. Their archers and shieldmen risked higher casualties but arrows arrived sooner and aim was better. With two dead and three in the infirmary in quick succession—the effects of the lull despite everything she’d tried—Kel reduced manning of the alures as much as possible, sending men to shelter under staircases while squads took turns to provide lookouts who varied the crenel they used for hasty checks; after climbing to the Eyrie she ordered extra men up there and took all guards off the alures. It wouldn’t work at night but by day no-one could avoid detection without spells Numair and Harailt could sense.

            From that height she could see more clearly the materials laid out beside the huge wheel in its housing, over which a massive tripod was being bolted into place. There were still a great pile of stout wooden slats and two long, thick beams as well as a pile of smaller ones, another of rope, and a mound she couldn’t identify. The wheel remained a mystery but the rest added up ominously, and when giants heaved the long beams end-to-end and slotted them together before beginning to bind them with a thick rope jacket and a collar of smaller beams to brace the join her last doubts vanished. The thing was the biggest trebuchet she’d ever heard of: slats would form a box for the counterweight, the wheel must allow giants to wind the beam down, and it _would_ fire from where it was, beyond arrowshot even from the Eyrie. Using the proportions of giants and mages she estimated the length of the beam, close to fifty feet—there had been timbers projecting from the back of one lumber cart, itself twenty feet long, so that was about right. Some maths confirmed that a cast of four-hundred-and-fifty yards was possible; the payload wouldn’t be less than fifty pounds and could be more. How the thing could hold together she hadn’t a clue—more bloodspells, perhaps, like the giants’ cloaking Numair had thought strangely bound to the earth—but she had no doubt that inside the wheel was some complicated metalwork in heavy steel; nor that the hatted man watching the last stages of construction with Maggur and Sven Bjornsson was Genlith.

            The afternoon passed assembling what defences were possible. Casts by daylight would be visible, and while they couldn’t be deflected there was a chance basilisks could shatter them; Numair might be able to do the same; Harailt couldn’t, but could shield the basilisks. By night icelights might give sufficient warning, and every spare came out of storage. The messhall kitchen was evacuated, and as many horses as possible moved to the corral; the rest were loosely hitched along the railings of the livestock pens, Alder and Peachblossom doing their best to explain the danger. Kel decided to leave the infirmary for now, though she put them on notice: it was more than a hundred yards further from the trebuchet and unless the Scanrans had something denser than rock to fill the counterweight box, now almost assembled, she didn’t think even that monster could reach beyond the messhall. The Scanrans would target walls and gatehouse: much as she would hate it, they could knock down all internal buildings and be no better off; what was needed was a breach or two in both walls, reasonably close to the top of the roadway. Finally, considering that fact, she extended the evacuation order to headquarters. Paperwork could stay, but guests cleared their rooms, moving to the caves, and Tobe and Irnai, with help from Fanche, packed Kel’s valuables. The spellmirrors went, and the coffin pile was moved into the inner angle of New Hope.

            The sun was far west when everything she could think of was done, and the trebuchet recognisable, however grotesquely oversized. The beam speared skyward above the counterweight box, which the giants were filling with—Kel cursed—chunks of finstone from excavation of the steps. It took blows from great hammers to shatter each slab, but though they were in arrow range there was no point wasting shafts when hits would only tickle. The giants grunted as they hammered and carried; each chunk must weigh hundreds of pounds and Kel saw more than thirty added to the box before the men around the trebuchet were satisfied—a counterweight of at least five _tons_ , she worked out, cursing again. Insult was added to injury when three giants lumbered to the fin to drag off an unbroken slab as a cast, and though there was a deal of hammering before it was loaded into the base, where the sling must be, incoming weight would be measured not in tens of pounds but in hundredweights.

            She passed her grim conclusions to basilisks and mages, ordered everyone off the alures, and returned to the parapet where Uinse and Brodhelm waited. Alanna, Wyldon, and Raoul were there again, mute, and this time Vanget, despite her protests; the King remained in the lookout under Tobe’s watchful eye but she couldn’t threaten the general with his wife, and as the trebuchet neared completion arrow fire had shifted to the east, rattling on petrified canvas over the animal pens. Curiosity about what the thing would look like in action became burning as two giants climbed _inside_ the wheel and began to trudge round—not a wheel at all but a treadmill for beings eighteen feet tall, geared to lift that monstrous counterweight forty-five feet in … about twenty minutes.

            That meant two shots an hour, and Kel’s heart sank. Those around her remained silent as the beam tilted, foreshortening and passing below the horizontal. It was nearly full dusk but New Hope’s icelights were brightening, and the Scanrans had magelights as well as fires around the trebuchet. In the strange mix of steady and flickering light it looked more peculiar than ever, a wheeled insect with giants and mortals tending it as bees did their queen. Kel knew the men clustered there would be locking the beam down and attaching the sling in which the cast rested, but there was an obscenity she couldn’t dismiss in the figures crawling into the thing’s hindquarters. It took a while and she wanted to hope nightfall would abort firing, preventing observation of casts or giving the thing dew in its ropework, anything—but she knew nothing would stop Maggur from seeing if his weapon would do the job.

            When men pulled back from the trebuchet one giant remained, wrapping a rope around its hands and setting itself to heave. Kel wasn’t surprised the thing’s trigger was too massive for a man to shift, but the giant’s deliberate movements ratcheted up tension. She didn’t see any signal from Maggur but it heaved and staggered back. For a split second nothing seemed to happen, then the beam was rising as the counterweight fell, its end whipping up, pulling sling and cast. The glittering slab of finstone caught icelight from the roadway, its trajectory lower than Kel had expected but well above the roof level she stood on, eighty feet above the moat, and by fluke or good planning the range was perfect. Sailing rather than tumbling in the air the finstone glided on its arc to smash squarely into outer west merlon 9, snapping it off and sending it flying into the killing field to break spikes and slam to a halt against the inner palisade. The finstone hung a moment on the wall and cracked in half, one end tipping over the fractured merlon to rest on the alure, the other falling back to land crunchingly on the dislodged rocknet and scrape down the glacis in a shower of stone. The impact was deafening but sharp, and the gatehouse roof slapped Kel’s feet as if she’d jumped flat-footed. Whether she had shouted Kel wasn’t sure, but everyone was silent as they absorbed the shocking effectiveness of the weapon and heard distant cheers and giants’ bellowing.

            It was far worse than Kel had feared. The thing wasn’t just bigger, it was more efficient by an order of magnitude—much heavier casts at twice the range and rate of any previous trebuchet. The Scanrans had the range and a dozen hits like that would destroy a section of palisade. There would be delays and stray shots, but the cold fact was that Ferghal’s men were still at least four days away, probably five, and Maggur’s men could have a viable breach as early as tomorrow evening, certainly the day after. It wouldn’t be a good breach and the scramble up would be brutal, but if they were prepared to take real casualties and keep coming it would be hard to defend—especially if broken sections of palisade bridged the killing field. And if giants were prepared to lead …. Across the valley the treadmill began to revolve again.

            “Alright everyone. Go on standing here if it helps you think, but think hard. We _have_ to find a way to destroy that thing, and we have to get it done tomorrow. Uinse, Brodhelm, ask the men, Mikal and visiting captains. Vanget, ask His Majesty, and if you’ve any advice on the end of a spellmirror, get it. Alanna, Numair and Harailt. Raoul, Dom and veterans. Wyldon, Councillors, please. I’ll talk to Quenuresh, Var’istaan, Kuriaju, and Barzha. We’ll meet at dawn and see what we’ve got.”

            “Where should we meet, Keladry?” Wyldon echoed her crispness.

            “At the shrines. Praying seems like a good idea.”

 

* * * * *

 

With thudding crashes punctuating the night no-one got much sleep. Kel refused to watch—there was nothing she could do and everyone was as safe as they could be—and spent the hours dozing between impacts in Dom’s arms, in her room in the evacuated headquarters. You could call it disobeying her own orders _and_ avoidance—and part of her did with each slap of impact as New Hope jumped and broke under the assault; but what she was fairly sure she’d have to do couldn’t be done by night. It was another obscene joke by Lord Sakuyo, so fraught with risk that she was duty bound to assess any other possibility and would do so at the dawn meeting. Until then the night was her own, and eventually she slept for a longer period to wake two hours before dawn with her head clear and her belly a knot of fear. There was no cure for that but there was for tension, and if ever she’d needed physical ease it was now. Dom was quick to respond when she roused him, but she was as possessed by the desire to give feeling as to feel; his eyes were wide when she straddled him and his breathing ragged long before they were done.

            “Gods. Kel.”

            Deliciously languid with that radiant ball of energy gathering in her belly that would expand into every limb she laid a finger to his lips. “Shh. I have to do something today that scares me spitless and I might not survive. Doesn’t matter what. Duty calls, needs must. I love you, Domitan of Masbolle, and I want to marry you and have more children than we can count. And if I don’t survive I know you’ll look after Tobe, Irnai, and the animals. Shh. It’s truth. I regret nothing but not having the sense to drag you to bed when I first met you, and if I died again right now I’d die as happy as I am scared.” She leaned to kiss him. “You once told me you weren’t one for talking of gods, just a soldier who got on with what needs doing, but when you heard Irnai you knew gods were watching.”

            “I remember.”

            “They’re watching again just now”—her face lit with mischief—“even though they’re being very rude and I sincerely wish they were shocked, though they won’t be—but not the same ones, or not the same way. Then it was the elemental and Lords Gainel and Shakith, but I think this is Lord Sakuyo’s show and what gives me hope is that his joke won’t be half so funny if I’m not alive to enjoy it. I know, but think of everything we’ve said about his sense of humour and the timeway’s gifts of irony. Shh. I’d be a fool to assume his humour couldn’t comprehend the death I owe the gods. I’m on borrowed time and we know it. But if it is like that, remember, please, there’ll be a great, fat joke somewhere, and if you see that, soldier-wise, embrace it, hmm? for my sake and your own, and everyone’s. Laugh the terrible laugh with him, even if you’re crying. Tobe and Irnai will understand. Do it for me together, if it comes to it, as the last payment for my borrowed days.”

            She loved him once more, honing the energy he gave, and rose to dress. When he saw she was leaving her armour and what she was taking he limped to kiss her, hard, but didn’t try to delay. Her first duty was to find out what had been happening and she found Brodhelm and Uinse in the gatehouse office, a soldier at the narrow window to give warning of any cast headed their way. Alanna was snoring on a cot next door.

            “How bad is it?”

            Brodhelm waggled a hand. “Good, bad, and worse news, Lady Kel.”

            She braced herself. “In reverse order, please.”

            “Seven dead, one badly injured. A cast skimmed the outer wall and hit the inner low, edge on. Smashed through and a Frasrlund squad was sheltering right there. Four injuries from flying fragments—Mikal’s Baker lost an eye, the others are bad cuts. And one cast fell short—hit the roadway and I’m pretty sure smashed one of the pit-traps. What I don’t know is what the Scanrans noticed.”

            Kel pushed it away—nothing to be done. “I really don’t like that line of thinking. On to the merely bad news, please.”

            “The upper third of outer west’s gone between merlons 7 and 10, and rubble’s compromised the killing field. I’ve had a fair bit shifted but there’s chunks we can’t move and a dozen spikes broken. Two bombs smashed, but they didn’t explode, thank the gods. One cast overshot—banged into the shelf and stopped a foot short of the messhall.”

            “What’s the good news?”

            “Their rate of fire’s high and those giants are working like mules but accuracy’s not as good as the first shot suggested. Some must be weight variation in casts and ropes stretching, but in the last couple of hours two have gone high and fallen short—glacis and an almighty splosh in the moat. Uinse thinks they’ve a problem with the sling and I’m beginning to agree—the last two shots have been slower, too, like they’re trying to adjust something.”

            “So casualties aside, we’ve a sixth of a breach, but if their accuracy’s down more time. And no way to estimate how much.”

            “We might have that soon. It was eight of ten hits, now it’s two misses, two hits. Big difference.”

            “I’m more worried by that compromised trap. If anyone comes to look target them as heavily as you can. And _do_ use griffin-and-stormwing shafts if any mages stray into range. Slings too.”

            “What are you goin’ to be doin’, Lady Kel?”

            “Listening to the King-in-Council, Uinse, which I’m willing to bet will get us nowhere, then doing my best to stop that thing.” She pointed to the weapons she’d set down. “Wish me luck, and pray to any gods you think might give you credit. They’re all watching.”

            They stared and nodded. Uinse cleared his throat. “I was talkin’ to Kuriaju a bit ago and ’e said weather was changin’. Rain from the west, ’e reckons, so if I’m guessin’ right you might not want to be waitin’ long.”

            “Right, though we have to have the meeting first.”

            Brodhelm rose. “We’ll come with you.”

            “Give me a few minutes? I’ve praying to do.”

            The terrace was deserted save for Kuriaju, sitting in the hoist with legs drawn up, gazing at stars. She settled herself before Lord Mithros’s shrine; he was the proper god for a warrior’s deed, then the Goddess for strength as a woman, the Black God for the death she risked and the life she was living, Shakith and Gainel for the absurd dream of it, and Weiryn and the Green Lady for defence of their major shrines and in final thanks for their gifts—but it was with Lord Sakuyo that she felt matters truly lay, and she spoke to him eye to eye, not in supplication. The best jokes, as well as catching the jokers—which surely included the god—harmed none; but there was justice to serve, the Black God’s sadness, Shakith’s support of tricksters. There were his supplicants Yuki and Cricket, and the hopes of all his Blessed. And whatever had gained dragons’ attention, which he might not care for at all but then again, as a trickster, might. She’d been slow to understand his involvement, she knew, but never disrespectful, and once she’d begun to grasp it she’d served him as best she could. The dead might be peaceful and she didn’t fear being so, however she was terrified of the death she was going to risk, but she did think laughter sounded more richly in mortal and divine realms and selfishly wished her borrowed time to be a great heap, wriggling with laughing children along the further timeway, not a sadly measured hoard she’d already expended; if it couldn’t be, it couldn’t, but in that case she trusted him—with a look the King-in-Council would have fallen silent seeing—to do _everything_ in his divine power to guard and aid Tobe and Dom. She wanted to hear a laughing voice but the gods were past speaking until it was done. The ease of her body was flowing round knots in her stomach, and if that was the limit of his gift she was content, knowing better than to wish fear away; no god granted such a boon, any more than they let anyone win without sweating. She rose and bowed, felt fear coiling, and stuck out her tongue, defying it, before going across to Kuriaju.

            “Good morning. Uinse said you think the weather’s changing.”

            “Protector, you continue to amaze. And yes—pressure is dropping.”

            “From the west?”

            “The air comes from the sea.”

            “When?”

            “Sooner than later—the wind changed while the moon was high.”

            He was still sitting in the hoist, and she contemplated it. “Could you tell more accurately from higher up?”

            “Probably. False dawn starts.”

            “Then let’s go, please.”

            On the way up she resolutely faced out, hands gripping the wooden rail, eyes on the messhall Weiryn’s least gift had made so beautiful. The story its pillars told with simple vigour, shining by godlight, should not end yet, and her fear of heights was already as burnt out as such fear could be. She had paid for it twice over, Conal too, and Lord Sakuyo’s joke was precisely aimed. At the top they didn’t leave the platform but looked west. Kel could see clouds catching the unrisen sun, and Kuriaju’s keener gaze told him they were beyond the peak from which the Greenwoods flowed, but not by more than thirty miles.

            “Late morning, Protector—noon at latest—and anyone outside will be getting wet. Intermittently. Those peaks and troughs say squalls.”

            “Thunder and lightning?”

            “Hail also, perhaps. And hard gusts.”

            “Right. Thank you, Kuriaju.”

            “Is it a sending, Protector?”

            “Not by any god. But the timeway … maybe. What was the weather like during the Godwars?”

            “I have no idea. Quenuresh might know, or Diamondflame, but none other to whom I have spoken.” He sounded serious. “A storm is mentioned in an ogresong about the gods’ skullroad.”

            “The timeway likes echoes.” She looked at him with lively curiosity. “If it’s permitted. Kuriaju, can you tell me what that ogresong says? I’m ashamed to say I’ve never imagined you have songs.”

            “We have many, Protector, and there is no secret but we sing in … Old Ogric, you might say. It is low and slow, and even the unicorns, who like all music, rarely listen. The … _Song of the Dragons for their Younglings in the Stone by the Road to the New Hall of Mithros’s Pride in_ … well, there’s more of the title, but it says that when dragonfire heated the Sungod’s shield, so he could not touch it when the First Dragon confronted him to demand the Great Compact and inviolability of the Dragonlands, there was a fierce storm and at first mighty winds blew, scouring sky and land, but then they stopped and rain fell straight and heavy, drenching the earth. It is why Mithros took the new skullroad though the revenge the dragons threatened was known to him, for it was the quickest way to his new home.” His blue skin caught the first light, and his voice was like a griffin’s purr, rumbling half below hearing. “I had not thought this. Perhaps you are right the timeway acts. If so, there will be many songs of this day.”

            “Maybe, Kuriaju. It’s why Lord Sakuyo couldn’t promise me anything, I think. Even his jokes bow to the timeway’s music. Tell me, if you’re walking an unknown surface what do you want on your feet?”

            He didn’t even blink. “Nothing, Protector. My feet are other than yours, but bare skin is usually best.”

            “That makes sense. Thank you. We should go down.”

            Again she made herself look out. She had flown on a dragon’s back out of the mortal realms, and the idea of a dragon’s tolerance of fear of heights took her most of the way. What, after all, would a mortal think of a dragon afraid to walk on the ground because it was too low? And above a hundred feet what difference did another hundred make? Her fear wasn’t incremental but absolute—twice burned away but never wholly rooted out; every fragment was just as absolute so there was no negotiating. She dropped the fragments one by one into her Yamani lake, watching the surface splash, ripple, and settle, holding it calm and still.

            “Can you teach our children that, Protector?”

            “Teach them what, Kuriaju?”

            “What you have just done with your fear.”

            “You can tell?”

            “The stormwings have been teaching us to read mortal emotions. It is hard for us, but yours rippled from distress to calm and your purpose settled. Fighting ogres use chants before battle, but nothing so pure.”

            “I will if I can, Kuriaju, or ask Lady Yukimi about being a lake. It’s a Yamani discipline—everyone learns it at the Imperial Court.” She touched his face in the way that substituted for a hug. “I know you don’t pray but if there’s anything ogres do for luck, try it before the rain comes? I don’t think that storm’s an act of the timeway—it’s the leading edge. If New Hope falls your kin should be safe in the caves, with some creative stonework, and if it doesn’t and I’m alive I’ll gladly teach your children to be lakes, though they won’t appreciate Yamani teaching methods. Their mothers might.”

            His rumbling laugh framed her return to the main level and the anxious greetings of King-in-Council. Runnerspring was absent of course, but her captains and others were present, conscious of their company. The King had a quizzical look on his drawn features.

            “Stargazing, Lady Keladry?”

            “Rain before noon, sire, and for my money the timeway with it. Did you have any bright ideas?”

            “One. Numair reckons that trebuchet is anchored by bloodspells, but he’s always been strong with earthmoving and I’ve the Dominion Jewel. We _ought_ to be able to topple it.”

            Kel had thought of that. “At what cost, to you and the valley?”

            He shrugged. “More drained than we are, perhaps greatly so, a large hole, and whatever power the Jewel might draw on.”

            “And when you last moved earth it killed every seed in Tortall?”

            “That was to stop an earthquake.”

            “And this would be to bend the timeway. Our seeds have the goddess’s blessings, we’ll need that land if we survive, and I don’t want Numair or you anything but blasting fresh if those loyalists rush a breach. So that’s not first choice, sire. Let’s see what anyone else has.”

            They did, while the sun rose and day began to warm the air, and it was much as Kel expected. If they could get to the trebuchet destroying it wouldn’t be difficult, and the skills were available: mages could blast, two veterans and a convict soldier had experience with setting platforms for heavy objects and knew how one could best be undermined, and a squad could carry blazebalm. But they wouldn’t get there, nor five squads, and New Hope would be easier pickings without them. Anything that involved descending the roadway was suicide, but there _was_ a case for a burn-and-flee sally from the corral, and Dom made it. It might work, and mounted men could escape back round the fin, but there’d have to be a powerful mage involved, and the chances were not good. Kel tried to look squarely at the effect of knowing the mage could only be Numair but her conviction that he wouldn’t survive didn’t alter the facts that any mage might fall and without one the sally would be lucky to inflict any damage. The potential losses were high to catastrophic and the risk of no gain substantial, so it came behind the King’s pure blasting, which risked fewer deaths.

            Var’istaan made an offer she hadn’t thought he would, but a rock spell amplified by Numair was the stuff of nightmares. She questioned them briefly but they couldn’t guarantee tight focus. If they’d been able to say they’d hit a fifty-foot ring around the trebuchet she’d have tried it, but two-hundred-and-fifty was an optimistic guess and the spell wouldn’t stop at the trebuchet. By the time it hit the western hills it could be double whatever it had been mid-valley, Numair had no idea if echoes would petrify, Var’istaan conceded they might, and either way a great swathe of goddess-blessed earth would go as well as whatever walked, flew, crawled, or burrowed with the bad luck to be anywhere near enough, or opposite, or quite possibly a valley or two over.

            “Thank you, Var’istaan, but that’s a last resort and only if you warn as many of the People as you can. And we have no right to risk the goddess’s blessing like that.”

            “So what do we do, Lady Keladry?”

            Disart was holding up but lacked the discipline not to be querulous.

            “I’m not sure yet. Does anyone have anything else?”

            Ennor coughed. “I’m not suggesting they should, Kel, but can any of the other immortals do anything? Have to ask.”

            “Anything on legs has the same problem, Ennor—it’s a suicide mission with a low chance of success and they’d need mage support too. The stormwings could drop blazebalm bombs, but there are mages guarding it and unless they can be taken out it’s likely any bomb would be detonated well short.” She gave a rueful smile. “A _dragon_ could do it in an eyeblink, but even Quenuresh can’t make an illusion loose real fire. And the griffins won’t fight like that, nor should they—not that they could do much before crossbows or magic killed them. It’s a mortal problem and needs a mortal answer.”

            That was true but Kel wondered about the way giants were behaving and she’d bet they were Chaos-touched. It would explain Weiryn’s gift—a counterbalance to Uusoae’s legacy.

            “Fair enough. But it leaves the cupboard bare.”

            “Not quite, Ennor. I’ve an idea but it’s a very long shot. You’ll all see if it works out. Meantime, I don’t think it’ll happen but plan how you’ll defend the caves—even with an army on the main level New Hope won’t have fallen if they hold, and _I’d_ not care to have to assault that cavemouth. Nothing to stop use of the rock spell there, so brick the entrance solid with Scanrans and wait for Lord Ferghal to lift the siege.” Faintly she smelled coming rain and swung to her captains. “This is going to sound as if I’ve lost my mind, but I want the sally horses ready by noon, and riders ready. The chance begins then.” She’d almost said the timeway would be here; it came to the same thing. “Brodhelm, remember the target’s Maggur—get him and everything changes. And a sally force will come round the fin behind him. Talk to Quenuresh—she can talk to centaurs who might flank a charge.” There was no guidance in any shrine, nor anywhere but her heart. “And Uinse, one more thing.” He had formal responsibility for the walls, and the necessary ruthlessness. “If it comes to it and I’m not there, remember what else is in the box of mageblast keys, and use it. Snap, snap—no slower, yes?”

            He swallowed and nodded. “Lady Kel.”

            “Then let’s be doing, people.” Fear of argument almost stopped her from hugging her father. “Pray for me.”

            “Always, my dear.”

            Avoiding company, she ate a late breakfast, for strength not appetite, and stopped only to collect the godbow and quiver she’d left in the gatehouse captain’s office before heading for the Eyrie. The climb had never seemed longer, and she wasn’t sure if that was her mind or the first ripple of the timeway. Nor did she let herself slow when she reached the Eyrie, sitting as she greeted the guards and Seed to remove her boots and sadly worn socks. Lalasa would scold her, and the floor under her feet was gritty and cold, but Kuriaju was right; flesh did the job best. That explained a lot about the gods, when you thought about it. The shot the trebuchet had just made, deepening the breach in the outer wall, had travelled four-hundred-and-fifty yards, and from the Eyrie the trebuchet was further away still, allowing for height and angle. But before her the fin stretched away.

            The astonished sentries stared as she strung the godbow, slipped it across the other shoulder from the sealed quiver with the precious arrows, and climbed out of the north-west window onto the gently sloping surface Var’istaan and Petrin had carved away. The cut rock ended and bird-stained finstone began, the dung fresh and slippy; she had to focus to avoid it, and make her strides one at a time, blessing the mere playfulness of the wind that usually scoured the top of the fin, clearing even moss. This was an allering, no different from that of the Palace wall Wyldon had made her run, and she hadn’t fallen then. Besides, every step closed the angle and if she was so silly as to look she’d already see the trebuchet more squarely, with treadmill and housing to aim at, and another step made the shot better still.

            More than two hundred yards along the fin it dipped and narrowed where a block had split away on the southern side. They’d found its remnants cutting the outlet sough for the corral moat, and as she neared the thin saddle she slowed and sat, adjusting godbow and quiver. She didn’t, mustn’t let herself stop, and edged forward until she could extend her legs on either side and ride the saddle as if it were a horse fatter than Peachblossom. Riding Diamondflame had been a kind of practice—but now there was no dragonmagic to hold her, which was good because she had to move along this saddle, using hands to brace and swing. Nor would infinite caution do because wind was plucking at her and that had been a stronger gust. Her time was as limited as Maggur’s, and why bother opening her eyes? Her hands told her she was on course, and she braced and swung, braced and swung, holding an image of a still, gently steaming lake, like the hot pools in the mountains above the Imperial Palace. When at last she felt the saddle rising and widening she braced and swung one more time, feeling her thighs stretch as she pressed herself to the rock, and reached out as far as she could, finding bird-droppings and moving that hand well aside, thighs trembling, to scrape it clean before cautiously bringing it back and trying to dig her fingers in. Sheer armstrength pulled her forward, allowing her legs to rise, and she extended once more, pulled, and convulsively drew her legs under her to kneel like someone making obeisance in the Carthaki manner. A glimpse through eyelashes showed a broadening wedge of fin  and she scuttled forward from the drop behind her.

            The surface of her lake was boiling and she cooled it, concentrating its heat into an energising ball in her heart. Her stomach could mind its own business, and so could the wuthering wind, because she’d come as far as she could. Twenty yards further on the fin dropped a hundred feet in a jagged cliff, the first of a series that brought it to earth fifty yards short of the Greenwoods, but the wedge she knelt on was no further from the trebuchet than Vinson had been from the eastern alure when she took him down, and she stood far higher than New Hope’s walls. It would be almost at right angles, and if she opened her eyes and turned her head she’d see her target, always a good idea, even with a godbow and especially with these arrows. Looking at the rock in front of her would be the way to start—a little further away than that, so she’d be able to push herself to stand in one smooth movement. She took a breath, felt Ebony slither down her tunic, opened her eyes, and nearly squawked. Junior sat five feet in front of her with a look that hovered between intrigued and affronted. Beside him Ebony regarded her with head cocked and for one crackling instant a vista flashed in her mind of her people watching until she crushed it beneath her lake with all other fears. It was enough that her voice sounded calm, however the lazy, blustery wind snatched at it.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Help?” Ebony’s squeak came clearly as the wind died again.

            “Thank you. Can you talk to Junior?”

            “Can talk. Not make listen.”

            “Tell me. Ask him to help you anchor my feet, once I’m set.” She didn’t wait for acknowledgements but invited Lord Sakuyo to make the calmness beneath all his laughter that of her lake and stood, finding her balance and swinging a leg forward. She planted her foot in a sideways move that brought her into her archer’s stance. “Now.”

            She couldn’t say more because the void before her filled her vision and her ears roared, the blue air dulled by clouds she would see if she looked behind her and the far Vassa shining in sunlight, Scanra beyond. The valley was beautiful, and Spidren Wood, even the lines of drooping flags on the standards round the coerced men’s camp, and the trebuchet was below her, half-cocked, giants toiling inside. They were probably innocents, touched by Uusoae and driven by magecraft, but so had the tauroses been and neither pity nor guilt nor cramping stomach and faltering courage mattered beside what they would help Maggur do if they could.

            The sealed quiver had to be opened but the catch seemed to co-operate as the godbow did with her clumsiness, letting the top flip open. She could feel heat from the three golden-orange fletchings on her face in the second before she slid the quiver back to her shoulder. Then the godbow was in her right hand, her reaching left met a shaft that leaped into her fingers, and the automatic flick of eyes not even terror could prevent saw its high-arched cock fletching correctly positioned, so as she nocked she had only to let the gleaming shaft settle on her fist. Her alignment was true, only depth of draw and angle remained. With Vinson she’d felt a moment of rightness; here on the fintop in a dead calm that could not last she flashed one last prayer that it might come again and be heeded among her screaming nerves. Then she dipped the bow to trigger her firing sequence, reaching full draw at the top of her arc, and with eyes boring into the trebuchet let the reverse arc begin.

            The moment came and hand obeyed intuition. The arrow arched in sunlight and as it dropped into the fin’s shadow left a glowing trail she hoped all could see but for a long, dreadful moment she thought it was going to fall short, that she had fired too soon, too high, and agonies flashed in her mind at her ignorance of what would happen if such a fletching struck New Hope’s earth—but the wind that however strangely still up here was being channelled around the fin extended its arc. Magic bloomed above the trebuchet in ugly colours and the sunbird-fletched shaft cut through it as if it weren’t there to strike the treadmill frame. Kel saw it hit but felt wind push her and knew with utter clarity that she could watch or run and perhaps live. Smoothly her hands slung the godbow over her shoulder, and she gasped an order to Ebony, lying over her front foot. “Seal the quiver—I’ve no time.”

            Junior’s spread forepaws were on her rear foot, outer claws gripping rock and inner ones drawing thick trickles of blood. He had as apologetic a look as she’d ever seen and she smiled genuine gratitude at the immortal. He was a youngling doing his earnest best against griffin nature, and his gift answered the corruption of the giants.

            “Thank you, my Lord, for everything. Please let go now.”

            She felt Ebony brush her hand on its way to the quiver, and forced herself to move, front leg swinging and Junior’s paw pulling away just in time as her other leg followed. As soon as she’d taken the stride she knew slowing to inch across the narrow saddle was impossible, not only because the wind would catch her. The clouds she’d seen as her gaze flicked west before locking on the stone at her feet had been miles away but the turbulence preceding them wasn’t. She would probably die if she tried to run the saddle but she’d certainly die if she didn’t, and her bare foot landed well into the fin’s narrowing V and she had no more choices to make. Prayer was really no more than putting one foot in front of the other, carrying on even when it was plainly absurd, necessity behind and next to nothing ahead, and if you were heading in a direction the gods liked your foot would land on glorious, solid rock and not slip if that was bird droppings under it, or even your own blood. And this was prayer in its purest form, imploring request and contingent action in lockstep, and that was Junior, accompanying her across the void because she was flying. The insane view never meant for mortals was the same, unnatural geometries of what she was protecting on either hand, far below, but New Hope was etched in light she didn’t understand that reminded her of something, and more importantly the fin was widening before her with the Eyrie beyond, guards gaping at the window and other faces with them.

            Her legs were pumping and the Eyrie getting larger, with the guards and other figures in it. Their heads seemed to be wobbling to and away from her and she wished they wouldn’t because it was like a tug to veer from the line she had to follow, and she mustn’t give in to the wind wuthering that same song as its pressure grew. Junior peeled away on her other side with a ringing cry that curled around her to balance all, and the guards were beginning to dive aside, so slowly, but they had a floor to land on. Yet it wouldn’t do to break the bow now and she reached an arm to bind it to her side and risked one braking stride, feeling her foot slip and grip and slip again as her other foot came through. She lifted both and turned, aligning herself to slide through the window, bisecting guards like an axe splitting wood and felt her feet hit the floor, jarring shock spearing through her but momentum sufficient to pivot her over them to slam into Raoul. He was braced but she drove out his breath in a great huff as long arms closed round her and he reeled back to clank into the parapet of the far window. He lost more breath as he sat but his hands snapped out to stop them both, slapping at the stone edges of the window, and as their combined weight came forward again and her feet met the floor with a burst of pain his arms were around her as fiercely as Dom’s had ever been.

            “Gods. Gods. Kel.”

            His voice was a wheeze and behind her she could hear wind rising in a gust that shrieked over the rock and would surely have killed her, but her blood was fizzing and she beamed at him foolishly. “You taught me to go flying, then a dragon did. What’s a girl to do?”

            She heard a snort and Alanna’s concerned voice. “Good question. Goddess, your feet are a mess. Turn her round, Raoul, and let me look.”

            As he was turning her, careful of the godbow and quiver across her back, memory cracked into her head like thunder. “Did it work?”

            Alanna stared, purple eyes wide and her head surrounded by a gleaming halo. “Look behind me, Kel.”

            The halo dropped away as Alanna knelt, red hair shining, and Kel’s eyes rose to the window. Every inch of the trebuchet was glowing in impossible reds and yellows, even the beam, an insect sun dwarfing glowing figures arched inside its treadmill and bright phantoms dancing away from its incandescence. There was no smoke but the air shimmered with heat and ordinary-coloured men were fleeing. It was too bright to do more than glimpse and she understood the way gazes had flickered to and fro, marvelling at her prideful assumption and forgiving herself for it with Lord Sakuyo’s liking for his thunder. All good jokes caught the joker and she let her eyes meet Alanna’s. “Good.” The timeway was nearly here. “Where are my boots?”

            “It’s better than good, Kel, gods all bless. And your boots can wait—you’ve made a proper mess of your feet. That griffin’s made holes an inch deep and you’ve a dozen dirty cuts.”

            “Alanna, I can’t wait. Timeway’s arriving. Field patch, and my boots."

            The idea of commanding the Lioness struck Kel as absurd but Alanna didn’t hesitate.

            “This’ll hurt then. I’d better do your hands first.”

            She stood, and Kel was surprised to see her own palms scraped raw with a long burn on her left thumb. Purple fire spread, stinging then soothing, and she felt her palms tingle and the burn itch. Purple faded, and the burn was only a ragged line of pink. Experimentally she flexed fingers, feeling stiffness but little pain. “Thank you.”

            “Wait till I’m done. You’re going to want to hold Raoul’s hands.”

            Alanna knelt again, more fire curling from her fingers, and Kel’s feet erupted into pain as if she’d poured spirits in every cut she’d ever had. Her hands clamped on Raoul’s as he grasped them and then she let the pain wash through her in the Yamani way, like unseen currents in her calm lake swirling through a net. Her hands relaxed again and her voice was calm though sweat trickled on her forehead.

            “So long as it’s quick. Ebony, if you’re there, and Seed, tell the captains rain’s coming soon, and hard. Archers should get under cover.”

            She felt Ebony return to her shoulder. “Here. Telling.”

            “Thank you. Raoul, can you seal that quiver, please.”

            “Doing it, Kel.” His voice was so close to her ear she could feel his breath, and the quiver tugged at her shoulder as big hands secured the catch. “Can you tell us what’s happening? Going to happen?”

            “No, but something is. Burning the trebuchet’s godwork, using the magic in sunbirds. I think that matters, but not here. And it’s only the beginning—the timeway isn’t here yet. With the rain.”

            “If you say so. Alanna?”

            “Don’t ask me, but I’m not arguing with Kel today. I’m nearly done. Where are her socks and boots, someone?”

            “Right. As usual. Where is it we need to be, Kel?”

            She knew as soon as she thought about it. “Gatehouse roof.” The gatehouse was where Orchan said what most mattered in sieges usually happened and he was right. The box of mageblast keys was in the captain’s office below, but that could be rectified.

            “Right.”

            Deft hands dragged socks over her prickling feet and ruthlessly forced on boots that felt too small. Gingerly Kel stood and found Raoul’s arm supporting her.

            “Alright, Kel?”

            She shifted foot to foot. “I think so. They’re tender but pain’s fading.” She frowned. “I didn’t feel anything at the time.”

            “I don’t suppose you did.” Alanna’s eyes seemed very large. “You’ll need looking at again later, mind, to check for infection.”

            “Alright.” So long as later came she didn’t mind that and found herself hugged crushingly from behind.

            “Glorious idiot. Don’t ever do that to me again, Kel. Not that you’re likely to. Gods!” The last word was louder and one arm extended to point at the window. “Will you look at that?”

            The trebuchet was dimming to dull orange and radiant grey, its form intact until something rippled, the counterweight box dropped from the beam and the whole thing slumped in a flaring puff of ash. A cloud drifted away with the wind, thinning into nothing, and only a grey pile remained. She ought to feel triumph but all she could think of was that two giants were in that pile as well as wood and stone, and the image filling her mind was of incandescent figures seen as the treadmill burned; behind it was the image of them trudging round a moment earlier as she’d fired the arrow from a height that made her head spin. She slipped from Raoul’s arms, pushing past him to the window.

            “Excuse me.”

            The impossible distance between a god’s perspective and a mortal’s, the irony in Lord Sakuyo’s laughter even when it boomed loudest and in all the great gods’ voices, was beyond her, as the void air had been, and the arc of the sunbird’s arrow. Raoul’s arms caught her as her knees buckled, holding her as the world narrowed to her rippling throat.


	28. Deliverance

**Chapter Twenty-Eight — Deliverance**

_12 – 14 February_

 

The purgation left Kel feeling every ache and pain, every trembling muscle, and fear she’d been suppressing spurted wildly but didn’t matter; she pushed through it, forcing her mind to work. The line of black clouds was closer and though rain might not arrive for an hour yet the blasting gust had been a harbinger: the wind had picked up sharply and every gust whistled and moaned as it met finrock. Raoul and Alanna were looking at her anxiously but she pushed past them to the east window, New Hope and the roadway below. Something she’d seen without registering while running was yammering alarm and a glance down told her what it was, her gut clenching. More than two thirds of the roadway was a dotted line of open pit-traps, blown and useless.

            “What happened?”

            Alanna came up beside her. “You know a cast smashed into one of the pits?” She remembered what Brodhelm had said an age ago and nodded. “Landed right on it. That perfect bad luck of battle. While we were all talking the Scanrans noticed something odd, and got a party behind heavy shields past the dead giant and far enough up the roadway to see what had happened. The follow-up must have been starting as you came up here, Kel—it was when I got to the gatehouse, wondering where you’d gone. Gissa with squads of shieldmen. We slowed them but couldn’t stop her getting to the base of the roadway. The upper third should be intact because Numair was shielding it but she blew the other traps.”

            “And the bombs?”

            “I don’t think the Scanrans realised they were there but I don’t know if they’ll work, Kel. It was a strong magical pulse, and odd—more of that blood magic—so they might have been affected, and I’d assume the moatbridge ones as well. Gissa was about to have another go when everyone started looking up—Scanrans too. I think you might say firing stopped by mutual consent. They withdrew under shields and Gissa took off at a run for the trebuchet. Much good it did her.”

            Kel managed a shrug but the pit-traps were a bitter loss, and if enough men made it up the roadway to the breach New Hope would fall. _Lord Grogar had placed too much faith in the height of his walls and paid dearly for his undermanned parapets._ So might she. If the bombs were compromised too all she had left except not enough men on the alures was Diamondflame’s gift, which she had hoped desperately not to use; but the timeway was narrowing fast, remaining possibilities wilder, higher. Immortal eyes might see them glimmering with dragonfire.

            “How’s the breach?”

            Alanna wiggled a hand. “Not quite viable. You saw it at dawn? Couple more hits since then took down more outer wall and one went though the inner, half-way up. Unless they can get Gissa to blast through, the main problem is if they get over the stump of the outer wall—it’s only five or six feet—they’ll have access to the alure.”

            Raoul nodded. “Or use blazebalm to blow the inner wall and head straight in. I would.”

            Kel shook her head. “I thought about that. The base is solid rock, not a petrified skin, so they’ll need a _lot_ of blazebalm. And we’ll need a mage powerful enough to blow barrels before they can be piled up.”

            The strongest gust yet rattled mesh shields the sentries had shifted to the southern and western windows and Kel’s skin prickled. Clouds had blotted away the sun and a towering thunderhead seemed to be heading straight for them. Of course it was—mighty winds, then heavy rain falling straight, Kuriaju had said.

            “I need to get to the gatehouse.”

            Her walk was more of a hobble but as motion warmed her muscles and she let the pain in her feet flow through her and away she walked more easily. Raoul strode beside her, and Alanna followed. A thought struck her. “Ebony, were you relaying your view?”

            “Shouldn’t? Fun.”

            Raoul laughed. “Most of it, Kel. Petal was showing Mikal when I took off to come up here. You’ll be getting a reception.”

            “It’ll have to wait.”

            “Will it? Good luck with that.”

            The fact that the steps connected directly to the inner alure made the luck for her but Uinse’s men in the gallery cheered when they saw her and it spread. The daring clapped her on the back or shoulders, and there were civilians cheering on the green; she didn’t have the heart to order them back to the caves but arrows would be flying again soon. At the gatehouse Brodhelm’s and Uinse’s looks were reverential and something juddered inside her.

            “Thank Lord Weiryn, not me. What’s happening?”

            “Oh I’ll thank him too, Lady Kel.” At least Brodhelm’s voice was brisk. “As to what’s happening, I’m not sure, but there’s been a lot of shouting since you burned that thing, and giants started felling trees.”

            “To bridge pits.” She waved Numair over from the parapet. “If giants lay trees over the pits can you fire them?”

            “Maybe, but green wood’s hard to burn. I’d have more luck blasting them.” He looked down. “I’m sorry about the pits, Kel—Gissa’s bloodspells are hard to stop. They flow through the ground.”

            “How drained are you?”

            “More than I’d like. I’m using opals but it takes time to recharge.”

            “Then don’t waste more power against Gissa until she’s closer. We’ll need you if they gain that breach. The roadway killing field’s all but gone save for archery and Diamondflame’s gift—and I’m beginning to think the timeway wants that used. We’ll see.”

            “You perceive it?”

            “Something doesn’t feel like gods, though they’re all watching and Lord Sakuyo was with me up there.”

            “He was?”

            She smiled tiredly. “Of course he was. He knows I hate heights. It was much too good a joke to pass up.”

            “A _joke?_ ”

            “Oh yes. I told you tricksters were at work. Irony with everything.” She wondered what might be happening in the Copper Isles but it wasn’t her business. A soldier’s voice calling urgently was.

            “Giants comin’, Cap’n. Carryin’ trees.”

            She saw arrows in the air and was abruptly aware she was unarmoured. Uinse realised too and shielded her as she went to the stairhead, but the arrows were peppering the far end of the alure and north tower—covering the giants’ approach.

            “Don’t waste arrows on giants. Slingwork—bruise them, slow them if you can. I’m going for my armour.”

            “Right you are, Lady Kel. Harrel, go help with buckling.”

            She left the godbow in the office, and the quiver, though she didn’t think she’d be using it again. The bow, yes, but sunbird fletchings had done their job. Outside, the rattle of arrows landing on stone and slings whistling on the alure had broken up the civilians, most heading back to the caves as she went to headquarters. When Harrel loped ahead to hold the door he plucked up courage.

            “That was amazin’, Lady Kel.”

            “If I wasn’t scared of heights it wouldn’t have been hard, Harrel. The saddle’s almost as wide as this path. Everything else was Lord Weiryn’s gift.”

            She left him in her sitting room, ignoring blankets tumbled by the burnt-out fire. A brisk, chilly scrub cleared sweat from her skin; washing her feet was good too, but hurt. Clean, thick socks were better and her armour a comfort; Harrel was efficient, and she thanked him as they left. He peeled away for his duty station while she went to the north tower. The men were too busy there to do anything but use their slings and duck the arrows that came in great waves. They were taking casualties but bellows of giants told of their own hits.

            From the tower roof she could see what was happening—a coldly efficient military operation, solid ranks of Scanran archers drawn up behind shields to provide dense, effective cover while the remaining giants lumbered by turns up the roadway to throw down split trunks. They’d thrown both giants’ bodies down the glacis; three pits had been bridged and she saw trunks crash down to open the way over the fourth. Harailt was there, behind shields with Mikal, but there was nothing he could try except sheer power, and she didn’t want him drained any more than Numair. The fire was heavy and accurate, and she took them all off the roof to the duty captain’s office.

            “Harailt, can you tell if those giants are being compelled?”

            “They are—Gissa’s magic but Tolon’s working it too, I think.”

            “Have they all been compelled all along?”

            “I don’t think the larger ones who attacked were, but the smaller ones with the trebuchet and bringing trees—yes, I believe so. Why?”

            “I was wondering why they were still willing to fight.” She frowned. “I didn’t see the larger two who survived their attack. Do we know where they are?”

            “Um, they were in the trebuchet, Keladry. They’d taken over because smaller ones doing it got sick. Treadmills affect men like that.”

            “So all the ones left are controlled?”

            “Yes. Does it matter?”

            “Maybe.” Kel was wondering if the larger giants who hadn’t needed to be controlled had been Chaos-touched. For the sunbird arrow to have killed the last two such felt like too much coincidence, and might mean divine tidying-up was over; that part of it, anyway. But the coerced troops had withdrawn when they could. “Gissa’s the priority.”

            “She’s not been near since she blew the traps, I’m afraid. Still, the rain may slow them—that thunderhead’s enormous.”

            “Yes, rain.” Numair always said mages were like cats when it came to getting wet. She ought to be back at the gatehouse. “It’s going to come down to the upper roadway and breach, Mikal. I might be wrong but I don’t think they’ll try the eastern alure, so pull men off to thicken west. And shoot straight down—rotating volley fire while they’re low on the roadway. Harailt, shield the volleying archers, not the length of the alures. Volley fire chewing at them matters as much as holding the breach.” Mikal nodded. “And make sure the sally force is ready.”

            She glanced up as she stepped out onto the inner alure and almost stopped. The thunderhead _was_ enormous, towering over the fin, and the whole western sky was black. Thunder boomed and wind gusted brutally, pushing her into a soldier crouched by a merlon. She shouted apology, air snatching at her words, and ran on, ignoring pain in her feet and straightening as she passed out of the zone Scanran archers were targeting. Nearer the gatehouse the air felt still but she could hear gusting and realised she was in the lee of the fin—the gust that had caught her had been an eddy but when the wind was strong enough from the south-west there was a lee of a hundred yards. Uinse joked that on stormy days he could stand bone dry raking down a man ten feet away who was getting intermittently soaked, and a plan flickered in her mind.

            The thunderhead was now visible even from the gatehouse roof, and Numair was peering up, whistling. She dragged him to the parapet.

            “If there were people down there by the fin, could you keep them still for a minute? Stop them getting more than a few yards?”

            He frowned. “Probably, Kel. Depends how far away, and how many.”

            “Gissa.”

            “Ah. Just delay her?”

            “Pen her in, for I don’t know, five seconds, ten.”

            “Where?”

            “I’m hoping it might be, what”—she measured with her eyes—“three hundred yards or so.”

            “I couldn’t break her shield at that range but keeping her still for a few seconds I can manage.”

            “Tolon too, if he’s there?”

            “I’d hope so.”

            “Good. Get your rainhat.”

            She fetched her hooded cape, cut to fit over armour, and visited the box of keys, packing the one she wanted carefully into her belt pouch, then decided to take the box anyway. There was a shelf for it inside the stairhead at the roof, and she’d only have to fetch it later; its contents had to be tried, however devalued they might be. Back on the roof Uinse grinned at her attire.

            “’Ave you forgotten the lee, Lady Kel? Shouldn’t get no more than splatters here with the wind like this.”

            “We will when it drops, Uinse.’

            “Drops? With this storm?”

            “I hope so.”

            “You does, Lady Kel?” He scratched his head. “Alright, then.”

            She heard him giving orders and his men’s surprise but her attention was on the skies. Lightning flashed behind the fin and thunder boomed deafeningly. There were luminous greens like rusty copper in the cloud, and a glance showed her Scanrans scurrying to secure tents and loose gear. The pavilion set up for Maggur not far from where the trebuchet had been had a dozen men piling rocks to hold it down while his standard stood out stiff as a board, and tentflaps cracked. Of the mounded dust that had been the trebuchet there was no sign and she didn’t see Maggur or Gissa before the scene blurred as rain at last swept over the fin and the deluge began.

            Hailstones were mixed in, rattling against walls not fifty yards away, bouncing from stone and beginning to spot the killing field with white. There were yelps as men huddled under the parapet were caught by strange gusts that could hurl hail in any direction. A few stones swept back to skitter along the gatehouse roof and she picked one up, enjoying the melting cold as she rolled it between tender palms. The curtain of rain hid the north tower and much of the alure, but she could hear water gushing down the glacis. The open pits would be filling, not that it mattered except as a job that would have to be done afterwards; some of the gore would be washed away but the moat didn’t bear imagining. She almost shared the thought with Uinse, but he was staring out along the fin and as she turned to him pointed.

            “We got company, Lady Kel.”

            The figures were distant but the second Kel saw them she knew who they were. Maggur and Sven Bjornsson stood with Gissa and Tolon almost in line with her, taking advantage of the lee. Maggur’s escort waited at a distance. Bjornsson seemed irate, gesturing, and Maggur too was speaking, but Gissa seemed to shrug and stare at rain and hail hammering the earth. Tolon was silent and from something in his stance Kel had the impression he was as obedient to Gissa as giants and tauroses. She thought for a moment Maggur was looking at her, but turned away without any indication he’d seen her, Bjornsson with him, and the mages moved in the other direction, pacing towards the fin as Tolon ventured some opinion. Lightning flared with simultaneous thunder, striking the end of the fin to blast loose a flake of rock, and the wind reached the gatehouse roof in a stinging gust of hail before dying completely. Sudden quiet lasted a bare second before rain began drumming on the roof, the impact of water on cape a tangible pressure as everything hazed with spray. Despite his baggy raincoat and hat Numair sounded like a soaked cat and she grabbed his hand, shouting over the noise. “Is Gissa making a rain-shield?”

            She thought she could see the glow of magic through the deluge but it was hard to be sure. Numair concentrated.

            “Yes, she is.” He sounded as cross as he looked wet. “Anyone sensible would be.”

            Kel strained her eyes. “Tell me if her shield changes shape—if it becomes just in front of her, not overhead.”

            “What—”

            “Just do it.” Her hands were opening her beltpouch inside her cape and taking out the smooth length of wood. It was thick and she’d need to brace it—the stairhead doorway behind her would do, and she stooped to place the key, ignoring heavy drops that smacked her hand, and poised her foot. Numair’s indignation was lost in concentration and he glanced at her with lidded eyes.

            “She’s near the fin, Kel. Moving along it. Going closer. And I’ve no idea how you knew but yes, her shield’s changing. Has changed—a half-dome, less. Weakening too—she must be in shelter.”

            And there was only one possible shelter out there from rain falling this straight. “ _Don’t_ let her move. Is she penned?”

            For an interminable second he said nothing and then grunted. “Yes.”

            Kel’s foot stamped down, feeling wood give way, and even above the drumming roar of rain she heard the flat, muffled boom as a score of Takemahou- _sensei_ ’s strongest mageblasts went off high above. She couldn’t see through the rain and time seemed to stop as she strained to hear but there was only Numair’s harshly indrawn breath as magic flickered around his tense fingers, until everything happened together.

            A monstrous crack of sound and air blasted rain into her face, blowing back the hood of her cape. Numair shouted, stumbling back, and the roof slammed into her tender feet, far more strongly than with the trebuchet hits, making her stumble too. She bit her lip against pain and the rain suddenly thinned, the heavy curtain of its trailing edge tracking up valley and allowing alures and north tower to reappear, washed and glinting. She felt Uinse and Brodhelm come up beside her as Numair shook himself and came to her other side, following her gaze.

            “Some warning would have been nice, Kel. That thing landed on my magic too. Gave me a jolt, though not as much as Gissa and Tolon.”

            She’d be sorry later. The new surface of the fin gleamed, sheer and clean as if Yamani steel had done the cutting, and the outcrop had fallen straight as a die, burying itself in the wet ground to half its height. Its weathered and stained surface formed a ramp to nowhere and the grass was ruckled like an unmade bedsheet, mud and earth spattered thickly around. Of Gissa and Tolon there was no sign, and though Kel’s stomach was clenched she felt hot triumph swelling in her mind. “They’re dead?”

            “Oh yes. Squashed very flat indeed. I felt that too.”

            That she hadn’t thought of and touched his arm in apology. “I wasn’t sure it would work, and I don’t think well magically. Sorry.”

            “I don’t think I shall be complaining, Kel, if you’ll tell me how in Shakith’s name you did that.”

            She looked surprise. “Mageblasts, of course. Takemahou- _sensei_ made and placed them for me.”

            “Good for him, but I meant knowing what Gissa would do, Kel.”

            “Mages don’t like getting wet. You always say so.”

            He opened his mouth and closed it again. “You knew what the weather was going to do.”

            “Kuriaju told me a story about the Godwars and I thought the timeway was at work. Ask him, but I warn you, the story’s in Old Ogric.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            His indignant astonishment was delightful but Uinse’s shout showed her something better.

            “The giants, Lady Kel—look!”

            The Scanran camp was a mess. Maggur’s pavilion was standing, just, half his standard ripped away, but the rest of the tents were a sodden patchwork that wasn’t being helped by the surviving giants. All nine were bellowing and shaking heads, hands clutching skulls, trampling tents and at least one man who didn’t get out of the way fast enough as they stumbled towards the ford—far too deep and turbulent for men or horses in winter but passable for giants. Once over it they turned north and as their headshaking diminished and their hands dropped their pace picked up and big as they were they began to dwindle fast.

            “Alright.” Kel wanted to slap her fist into her palm but it would hurt too much and contented herself with a smile that sent Uinse back a pace. “Time for the last act. Uinse, Brodhelm, bowstrings—change every wet one. Restock everything. And get everyone hot food and drink. All reserves ready. Ebony, stage two alert for the sally force.”

            Uinse was nodding, Brodhelm staring. “You think they’ll come _now_ , Lady Kel? After all you’ve done to them already today?”

            “They have to. Trebuchet, conscripts, coerced, mages, and giants are gone, and everything they’ve got is soaking. Those men up the valley won’t help them until they take New Hope.”

            “An’ cornered animals is dangerous, Brod’elm. Lady Kel’s right—they got no choice. They’ll come with everythin’ they got. But I’m thinkin’, Lady Kel, we only got to break ’em once. Turn ’em and they won’t come again, not even for King Maggot.”

 

* * * * *

 

The Scanrans did come—coldly and professionally, knowing their strength and opportunity. The first sign was trios of men running over the moatbridge to lie on the glacis—two shieldmen and a crossbowman. Two teams targeted each crenel, and under their covering fire, supported by archers beyond the moat, larger teams with shieldmen carried more split trees to bridge the open pits that remained.

            At such short range crossbow bolts were assassination weapons and after the fourth body was carried from the alure Kel reduced counterfire to a random scatter, sufficient to keep them needing shieldmen but no more. She could not afford to expend ten or fifteen arrows in hope of a fleshwound or to lose capable archers, and had to watch as the last pits were covered. The topmost three that had been blown were in range from the gallery, and the unexpected angle gained a scatter of kills and two trunks skidded and spun into the moat. But the response was immediate, additional shieldmen lined obliquely across the roadway, interlocking with those protecting the carrying teams, and work continued. With the blown pits covered there was argument about the rest of the roadway, unblown pits clearly suspected. Watching with her from the gallery Wyldon grunted sourly.

            “They’re no fools.”

            “No. It’ll be a while yet.”

            Most of her people had thought the assault proper would now begin but Maggur—or Bjornsson—was cannier. Pairs of men began running up the roadway, hugging its inner wall and carrying two shields. Nearing the top the front man angled one to block any fire from the gallery, and both would then try to get to the gatehouse or the base of the inner wall to press themselves against it. Teams on the glacis gave them cover on the roadway but they were more vulnerable to fire from the gallery as they raced for the turn or tried to scramble up the glacis, and once they’d reached gates or wall. Kel brought master archers from the alures to play their own game of waiting patiently with nocked arrows for a glimpse past a shield that wavered aside or dropped an inch too far—and they were taking men down. Roadway and glacis had a thick scatter of bodies but the number of men reaching the walls was rising steadily. Leaning out to shoot down was a death sentence from the crossbowmen, and they knew about the rocknets, clustering beneath merlons that no longer had them, and slashing with spears to empty those still in place. Twice a man was swept away, unable to jump back fast enough when stones fell, but one by one merlons 2 to 5 were cleared, she’d used 6 and 7 against the giants, and 8, 9, and 10 had gone in the bombardment that had smashed the breach. Heavy stones and spidren nets had the best success slowing the Scanrans, and pots of urine heated to pungent boiling by basilisks; a dozen men were smashed away or exposed themselves as they were tangled or scalded, but ranks closed up swiftly with new arrivals.

            There were crossbows among them and the gallery began taking fire. The Scanrans were trying to get bolts through a window at an oblique angle and long range, but they were good and sometimes lucky. Two archers were killed and a third owed his life to Alanna when a bolt ripped his neck and her magic sealed the wound in time. Kel took shots with the godbow from the steps up to the Eyrie, beyond crossbow range, with bloody success, but had to retreat when archers advanced along the moat, and a volley rattled on stone behind her as she ducked back into the gallery. The one good thing was that the breach wasn’t easily viable, yet. To stand in it was to expose head and shoulders to fire from the _inner_ alure, which the crossbowmen couldn’t scour because the outer wall shielded it. When the Scanrans reached the gap ripped in the wall they tried, several times, but no man made it far enough even to fall beyond the stump of the palisade and they gave up, waiting until they had the numbers to do the job. Occasional potshots at the inner alure did continue, and some found marks. A cracked section at the top of the stump was pulled loose to clatter down the glacis, reducing it to less than five feet across more than half its width, and extra trios of shield-and-crossbowmen came scuttling up to lie amid corpses, targeting the inner alure. The breach wasn’t wide enough to allow men through it even so, but they inflicted casualties as men on the inner alure had to adjust to the new threat.

            It was a calculated game of numbers. Maggur and Bjornsson had expected to use men they didn’t care about to clear their way to a more viable breach, but with bombs, pits, and rocknets gone, and experienced troops fired by necessity to make the assault, they thought they could overwhelm by sheer guts and numbers. The men coming up the roadway in pairs were not worth expending any remaining traps on, but the force building below gate and walls, now at least one-hundred-and-fifty strong, was a dire threat, for when a real charge did start they would at best divert defensive fire, allowing more charging men to make it through, and at worst secure the breach, shielding men coming through it to scramble for the outer alure and laying down suppressing fire at the inner. And once into the killing field she doubted they’d bother trying for the bridge; their target would be the gatehouse by escalade or the inner wall by blazebalm or other blasting.

            Her job was to kill as many of them as fast as possible when they came, and as the numbers crowded against gates and wall grew towards their limit she gave her final orders. Alanna was more use as mage than archer, and went to join Numair and Harailt providing shields for squads who would fire by rotation. Nothing was happening to the east and she left only the barest skeleton watch, reinforcing outer and inner west. After a brief darking conversation with Dom most veterans and half the oddment squads posted to the corral came as well, and she called civilians glaive squads to block any Scanrans who did make it to the inner alure and thought to try for the bridge.

            Of nine hundred plus men she’d started with more than a hundred had been killed and as many again sufficiently badly injured to be out of action—but hideous as the coffin pile was she didn’t think the Scanrans had weakened her enough. She’d forced Maggur’s hand, and his loyalists had to face a more robust defence than they’d hoped for; if you didn’t like the odds you had to change them and they’d done their best to whittle New Hope down, but she hadn’t allowed them time to halve the defence. Even so, six hundred defenders on the western alures were going to be pushed hard; as soon as any who weren’t magically shielded stood to begin firing they’d start to fall, and any exchange of casualties worse than four for one would see the Scanrans inside. She cogitated and decided, and if the wounded could stand and shoot, even for ten minutes, they came from infirmary pallets and bedrolls to add what weight of shot they could.

            Mikal held the keys to the remaining western rocknets, which had never been intended to protect the roadway but would pepper it all the same, especially if they went off together, and more urine and water were heating. Small barrels of blazebalm were set ready on the gatehouse roof, and more lowered to men who’d drawn the difficult duty of manning the section of outer alure between gatehouse and breach, and been stuck there. The basilisks waited on the shelf, where rock spells would be of most use in holding any breach in the inner wall, and where they could reach its alure swiftly if the outer fell and use of the spell became possible without petrifying defenders. Finally, as Kel saw troops in the fields beyond the moatbridge begin to form column she relayed to Dom the last stage of the sally alert, beyond which was only the order that would send men running for saddled horses.

            She studied the forming column carefully. There were maybe a thousand archers, and counting crossbow- and shieldmen more than five hundred involved in the penetration up the roadway, of whom nearly two hundred were already under the walls—which left a thousand plus who weren’t yet in action. Some were Maggur’s close squad, and she’d looked earlier at the men with him and Bjornsson in front of his lopsided pavilion and sheared standard, but also seen what other men were doing—including a group of several hundred who’d clustered for a while around a shaman and begun drinking from stone jugs. Some painted their faces or braided one another’s hair, and a few slashed their chests with knives, shouting and stamping. They’d pulled on totemic clothing, bear pelts and wolfskins, seeking possession by the animal gods— _beserkir_ who could have a limb hewn away and still roar on; men whose job it was to force the breach. It was as primitive a tactic as there was, and in many circumstances didn’t work at all. Kel had a clear image in her mind of a _beserkr_ she’d killed at Forgotten Well, and knew a frothing mouth and entranced indifference to pain was no match for a needlepoint in the eye. Any well-equipped soldier could take one down at distance, and against intact defences they were only another wave that would break, but for a breach they were perfect and she needed to know where in the column they were. Some had come to the front, beginning to jostle and shove as they waited for the charge to begin, but most were further back, the column’s core, and _that_ was interesting.

            It was as ruthless a decision as everything about this assault, and in a strange way a professional compliment, calculating that most men in front of that core would perish—but also thin and tire defenders so the fresh wave of _beserkir_ would come as a hammerblow. It meant the troops to go before them had to be drawn from those firing volleys and they were beginning to thin as men were called to take places in the column. And _that_ meant her own archers would be more effective, fire less suppressed and kill rate higher, which was what she needed. She added an order to the capable mages, that as soon as the charge began, and before they began shielding archer squads, they should blast any crossbow-and-shieldmen trios they could reach and create any impediment they could for archers beyond the moat—light, smoke, distortion. Alanna and Numair would have done so anyway, and would have primed Harailt—but better safe than sorry, and only just in time for with a roaring shout the column began to move.

            Balls of purple, red, and glittering black magic slammed into shields covering crossbowmen, sending them flying with the men beneath, and fog began to rise from the moat. Kel thought there was also a purple haze in the air and already Scanran arrows were going astray, arcing to fall harmlessly on the main level or falling short to clatter on wall and glacis, but she had no time to watch. These were fit soldiers sprinting for their lives, not half-baked traitors’ inexperienced liege-troops and hirelings, and they were already thundering over the third bridged pit. Mikal’s men started rotating volley fire above the base of the roadway, and Kel could see magical shields working as Scanran fire was deflected; every one of their arrows was aimed and they had a solid mass of backs and necks to target. Already the column was developing a standing ripple, like a river over stone, where men trod on the fallen, and turbulence was spreading. Volley fire from the middle crenels was beginning to affect the head of the column, where the frothing wave of _beserkir_ ran, careless of who fell. Most carried axes and were shouting warcries and defiance, as the giants had bellowed; her hearing seemed to have retreated to a distant rumble of sound as her hands lifted the second dowel of bomb keys and the few individual keys from the box before her. How effective they would be she’d no idea and the necessary sequence was a pattern dance in her mind as time narrowed, like the fin, to a saddle she had to traverse and from which Maggur must fall.

            The faces of the foremost _beserkir_ were before her, braided hair and blond beards whipped back as they ran, contorted with the spirits they’d drunk and imagined, and as they passed Bargy her hand snapped the individual keys, then the dowel, dropped it, and reached for the other as her eyes shut against the glare. This close it was intense but far briefer than when she’d faced the traitors, and as it faded and her eyes opened she saw only five bombs had survived Gissa’s magic. But they had done their job very effectively because the Scanrans were tightly bunched; gaps had been torn in the column and burning things tumbled in air, but it wasn’t stopping and survivors had more room, accelerating to catch those in front. At the head of the roadway coverage had been best, with adjacent blasts, and volley fire from the alures was cutting into survivors isolated between blast zones, but those gaps were closing too and _beserkir_ were already approaching Horny, where the highest remaining bomb was. She waited until they reached it and her hand snapped down again.

            Only three bombs exploded this time but the front of the column was again shattered. Men near the breach were engaged with Scanrans beneath the walls who were firing at anything that showed, but men in the middle of the alure concentrated on surviving clumps of runners left by the bombs, and the _beserkir_ at the front were gone. But still the charging column did not stop, the great core of _beserkir_ almost half-way up the roadway driving men in front on, and her hands reached for the next mageblast keys to try, pitkeys—thick, flat rods a little longer than a finger to provide leverage. Most were useless now, but any unblown pits _might_ work and there were eleven to try. Her hands lined them up on the sill in front of her, unerring, and she didn’t even look at the roadway as she leaned a hand on the first to hold it and snapped down before moving on to the next. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ She’d broken seven without any result and knew there were men passing Dimwit, only seconds from the turn, but with the eighth she heard or felt a thump that had to be mageblasts, and before the different screaming began her hands had dived ahead to the last, working backwards down the three remaining. As the heard-felt thumps came and screams cut through howling rage she forced her head up and looked at the new horror she’d made.

            Anyone who’d been standing on a pit was dead, fallen onto obsidian spikes, but you could have called them lucky. The momentum of the charge was driving on men between pits and no-one could stop. She’d known what was needed and the pits were deep, the spikes long, and more men were falling and dying, covering the spikes and filling the pits body by body. Volley fire was chewing at them as well, but Kel could see men seizing anyone hit in front of them to drag and cast forward, using them to help fill the pits. Below the first newly open pit the _beserkir_ core had driven so many men before it that when they came to it themselves they could charge on as if it weren’t there, feet hammering into the dead and dying, and at the second the frontrunners didn’t even hesitate, hurling themselves forward, falling short, and vanishing as others landed on them and a mound built to which yet others could leap and leap again, clearing the further side of the pit. Kel could hear in the shouts around her that people could not believe what they were seeing, but Yamani troops would do the same if their emperor demanded it, and wouldn’t have to drug themselves to do it. There was no thought in the men dying before her—that had been done beforehand and their world had narrowed to going forward until New Hope fell, the timeway narrowing with them into the purity of living or dying, and the next step to be taken anyway, as relentlessly as all the ones before.

            The seconds or minutes it took for the dead to bridge the pits were interminable. She already held the warm, rough dragonscale and knew Wyldon to her left had glanced at it between arrowshots picking off men clustering around the breach; she didn’t know it was the terrible look on her face and the misery radiating from her that had caught his attention, not the thing in her hand, but if she had she’d have shrugged. Gifts were given to be used and Lord Diamondflame did not give idly, though he would never stand before the judges she’d face. No matter. The Black God’s mercy was infinite, and he too did not give gifts without good cause and a weeping heart.

            “Cover your eyes.”

            Wyldon was staring at her when the leading _beserkir_ reached the end of the uppermost pit, below Flatnose, and surged forward screaming; her hands met clasping dragonscale, tightening; he reached Chargy and they flexed. _Snap, snap_ , no slower, and dragonfire that could burn even gods to the bone seared the world white. Orange-red blazebalm burned men slowly; only the magebasts driving it had made it so swift. The sunbird arrow had invested the trebuchet with deep red fire that had no flame and consumed until only ash remained. Dragonfire vaporised men into glowing white clouds that spun and dissipated in the wind and air being pushed ahead of the frothing screaming men still running towards her below Pizzle. Nor did it give them time to scream—they just flared and vanished, like guttered candleflame, but there were ugly noises as surviving Scanrans breathed incandescent air and fell, fire erupting from mouths as boots slammed into backs. And still the column came, the destruction of its van so swift that no-one more than a rank or two behind the foremost survivors understood what had happened.

            _Snap, snap_.

            “All gods, Keladry, what _is_ that?”

            “Dragonfire. Lord Diamondflame’s gift to the timeway’s memory of the first skullroad. The gods killed kits in rage and now the dragons save our children.”

            He made no reply but she felt the timeway squeeze her, as she squeezed the dragonscale. Perhaps she’d snap too, but seven dragons had died and must be remembered. Cinders, Yolky, Flinders, Croaky, Parcel, Morsel, and Runt. _Snap, snap_. _Snap, snap_. _Snap, snap_. Five left Morsel and Runt. The stones of the roadway were red-hot and the air crackling, whistling past, drawn to burn as moths were, and a great ball of black cloud shot through with lightning and writhing with lines of flaring light was rising above the skullroad. _Ctheorth Yr_ , the firebow, and for the first time running men faltered. The last ranks of _beserkir_ charged on but soldiers behind them, pulled from arching and weary before they started running, slowed and a gap opened.

            “Ebony, final sally alert. Wyldon, time to go.”

            She ran along the gallery to the alure, Wyldon pounding behind, and glanced down. The leading _beserkir_ were level with Horny, hair and beards burning, and the last ten yards below Pizzle. _Snap, snap_. That was six, and below those last men there had been a gap of fifty feet.

            “Hit that column head _now_. Arrows, slings, everything. Mikal, rocknets.” Stones bouncing down forty feet and more _hurt_ and Ebony would relay the order. “Turn them, they’re breaking, hit them _now_.”

            Then she was in the guardhouse, descending stairs and when she reached the bottom enough time had passed. _Snap, snap._ Runt could rest in peace; her hands wrestled the dragonscale into her belt pouch and the path was before her, men clattering down from alures and others ahead of her, going as fast as they could across the green. Someone in the three hundred who’d been in the skeleton watch on the eastern wall was running along the terrace and she hurled a prayer at the shrines, not for forgiveness or survival, though she craved both, but the gods’ collective acceptance of the path she hunted towards Shakith’s moment.

            The cave air was cool on her face and the main chamber crowded with people, the King and Vanget among them, drat their disobedience. No-one spoke but it was a massed salute all the same, silently offered and received as she followed some man’s flying heels into the tunnel—Pedrintor, from Mikal’s Fourteenth, very good with a lance for a footsoldier; he’d grown up with horses, towards the Gallan border, and was sweet on a Goatstrack girl who wasn’t sure if she liked him enough but was willing to find out if she might. Kel’s feet boomed on the bridge, and had to slow for the square and zig-zags, like horses, and at last daylight was growing before her.

            It was no good running full tilt at warhorses; men who’d been on outer west would be behind her anyway. As she came into the corral, rounding the stableblock, she slowed and Wyldon caught up. The horses waited in pairs along the line of the wall, second and third arcs inside that, and civilians held weapons riders would need; men were already finding their animals, positions corresponding to number in the list of three hundred that had as far as possible been updated as deaths thinned choices. At the front of the outermost arc, by the gateway to the killing field, Alder was in full barding, Peachblossom and Hoshi beside him like sergeant-majors at a drill. Jump was there, tongue lolling, and she didn’t doubt Nari but could spare no time to look because Tobe was holding her glaive with the rest of her armour at his feet and she needed to hug him for one long second.

            Rising with a cuisse in hand she held it while he deftly buckled it, and the other, and greaves and sabatons. She mounted, and he handed up her glaive to slide into its holder, then her lance. Wyldon was mounted beside her, lance in hand, and Raoul being armoured. She could see Brodhelm, Seaver, Prosper, Voelden, Ennor, Terres, Varlan, Pedrintor, Imrah shouting to her the picket force had vanished when the assault began, Macayhill; Wolset and men she’d once seen hogtie a killing device from horseback at a speed Runnerspring hadn’t believed possible; scores of faces she knew, her people and men she’d begged, borrowed, and stolen, here to pull down the monster who ate children at long last. Only Alanna was missing and came running breathlessly up with the last men from outer west. Tobe and a man from her company were waiting to armour her and she panted words.

            “Too old for this … thought that tunnel’d … never end. Gods. … Waited to … see ’em break. … And they did, Kel … they’re falling back. Spilling … into the field. Maybe a thousand left.”

            “And two score unbloodied round Maggur. The rest will fight while he lives, but if he falls they’ll surrender.”

            “Gods, yes. I’m not even sure they’ll fight for Maggur any more. What _was_ that, Kel? Dragonfire?”

            “Yes. All the immortals have acted now. Only stormwings remain.”

            “I’ve been wondering where they’d got to, Kel.” Raoul was mounted on Drum. “I’m astonished they haven’t been at work yet.”

            “They’ve been feeding higher up.” Kel gestured, noticing the sun breaking through up valley, fitful but welcome. “And they need my leave to slay any living thing or play with any dead one in this valley.”

            He didn’t reply though his glance at Alanna as she mounted was eloquent and she’d recovered enough to cackle, the sound rising above the noise to silence men.

            “Don’t ask me, Raoul. You and Wyldon trained her. Mine’s back in the infirmary. Goddess knows what you’ll make of Alan.”

            Wyldon was laughing and Raoul drawing breath to expostulate, and something in Kel flared at Alanna’s use of a bare name because the improbable was beginning to flicker into existence and it had to be pursued into a new reality for her people. The only men not mounted were in the inner arcs and they’d have time, so she pulled on her helmet, visor up, and turned her head to catch Dom’s eye on the gatehouse roof. He looked back with a smile that blessed and loved her as his arm chopped down and she heard the rumble as the portcullis rose. Alder was in motion and they passed into the killing field. His hooves thundered on the drawbridge and met turf again and he veered left and straightened along the sough draining the moat.

            “Fun! ”

            Ebony’s squeak was joyful, and she had a choice of ironies, a vista of contrasts, and would not parade her guilt to the timeway.

            “Oh yes, little one. Fun and to spare, joy and justice both. And even the dead blessed beyond suffering. All the dead. You tell _everyone_.”

            Hey eyes were scanning ahead but as Imrah said there was no sign of the picket save a deserted bivouac, tents and a picketed pony who raised his head to stare at the column uncoiling across the field. Wyldon, Alanna, and Raoul spread out in line with her, holding all behind them to the odd trot of laden warhorses advancing to a charge, and the pony dropped its head in a submissive posture as they swept by. The wide culvert over the sough let them turn in line and as they rounded the fin the missing picket could be seen fifty yards ahead, backs turned, staring at whatever was happening on the roadway. The great flake of stone chipped from the fin by lightning was stuck in the ground, and beyond the Greenwoods centaurs were cantering towards the stonebridge, Whitelist leading; the noise of their hooves on the span brought the pickets’ heads snapping round, far too late. Her fist pumped to call the canter and her lance dropped smoothly into position.

            She didn’t bother to lower her visor as her lance point ripped through a man’s throat and drove into the back of the next just enough before she twitched it back to let him fall. How many of the picket survived she didn’t know and it didn’t matter—the field opened before her and she turned, drawing a line on the lopsided pavilion and the knot of men before it, gazing at New Hope. She spared one glance, taking in hundreds of men scattering from the emptying roadway, where arrows flayed the fleeing. Wyldon and Alanna were keeping pace but it mattered more that centaurs were already going to a gallop, surging along the Tortallan flank and beginning to fire as centaurs could, arrows arcing to fall among the nearest men retreating from New Hope.

            Kel’s fist pumped again and she reached to flick her visor down as the charge began. Air flowed through the slot, cool and damp with the reek of battle, and she settled over her lance, feeling its balance and knowing her own. Centaur arrows flew overhead, a tunnel down which she charged, Alder’s hooves spattering mud and thunder drumming in her ears. A tendril that must be Ebony extended into the corner of her eye, and she knew all would be seeing as Alder reached the first collapsed tents and went straight over them. There was a man hurling himself forward and her lance took him cleanly, punching through breastplate and spine; she’d not free it from that and let it go as the shock of impact slapped her hand, reaching for her glaive and letting it sweep into the wide position she preferred.

            Behind her men were spreading to meet Scanrans turning retreat into attack, but she was in a lane between rows of tents and brought Alder round to charge down it. Drum was on her left and Raoul still had his lance; Wyldon and Alanna were behind but she could see their shadows because the sun had reached them and Maggur’s pavilion was shining, broken standard glittering. The lane ran in front of it but would be the quickest way, and men who’d been in front of it were now mounted, and didn’t bother with any clearway but spurred over tents, crushing whatever stood to reach the lane a hundred yards in front of her. They hadn’t had time to arm properly and she could see a breastplate hanging askew, a vambrace flapping; all had only bascinets, and the leading man was Bjornsson, standing in his saddle, axe in one hand and sword in the other, steel flaring light. Raoul’s lance slipped into her vision, in the difficult open position that couldn’t be used against anyone else with a lance and took great strength, and she forgot Bjornsson to focus on the man to his right, seeing Wyldon’s lance swing to the man beyond.

            In the split second before she had to strike she was aware of Bjornsson lifted from his saddle but her glaive was twisting to take a man under the short breastplate that was all he had. She felt its tip nick his spine and the world contracted to the man now before her as Alder’s greater speed and weight, boosted by barding, slammed the gutted man’s horse aside. A lunge took his neck and the scything swing into which it could flow severed an arm before the axe it held could come down. Men and horses were screaming, speed bleeding away as the mêlée developed, but there’d only been a score of Scanrans and she’d punched through; her knees drove Alder forward, and shadows told her Wyldon and Raoul were with her as she came to the trampled path the Scanrans had left. She turned up it, seeing the crooked pavilion and men spreading out to deny her their master beyond, and drove Alder forward again, hooves thundering. The man to the right was left-handed and moving to dodge Wyldon behind her, his misjudgement as her glaive swept out to decapitate him and spear another’s face, jerking as it cut bone. Beyond him a man was backing away, mouth wide and sword uselessly skyward as Alder dipped to punch him aside, and she was through. Maggur stood before his pavilion, sword gleaming in sunlight.

            Alder slowed as he felt her weight shift and by the time her leg was over the saddle he was trotting just fast enough to give her impetus she could control. Her outstretched foot hit the ground, sabaton sinking in as she came over the standing leg and lunged, glaive flashing faster than thought to slice across Maggur’s hand. His sword fell from nerveless fingers and before it hit the ground her glaive was at his throat, flicking away to rap his shoulder, driving him to his knees, and back to open a flap along his jaw and rest at his neck as blood bloomed. Numair was far away but Lord Sakuyo had a way with loud noises too, so she cast her prayer into the sky and drew breath. Silver fire gripped her throat and there was laughter, hawks screaming among battlecries. Her eyes never left Maggur’s.

            “HOLD! HOLD!”

            She spoke in Common and her voice cracked across the field like thunder, echoing from glacis and crags, and when the sound faded there was stillness. It wasn’t quiet. Horses snorted and whinnied, and the harsh labour of breath rose and fell like the sea, but arrowfire and swordplay stopped. She spoke in Tortallan before switching to Scanran.

            “New Hope, hold fire, strike no man. Men of Scanra, Maggur Reidarsson falls. Combat ceases. Clanchiefs and chiefsmen bound by _blódbeallár_ , come. Your oaths are void. Your betrayer falls. Let fall your axes and stand witness.”

            Gods but Maggur didn’t lack courage. Blood pulsing from his jaw he drew himself up and her glaive followed his throat. When he spoke his own voice boomed for all to hear, even coerced a mile up the valley, and he didn’t flinch as sound tore from his mouth.

            “Betrayer? No. I have done much, but I betrayed none.”

            Rage made sunlight scarlet but her voice was cold and measured, reaching just as far and farther. “You sold your liegers’ children to a _nicor_ , Maggur Reidarsson, and your nation piecemeal to the gods.”

            He didn’t understand, even with the thousand souls he’d made her send to the Black God today, and shrugged, ignoring the glaive that jabbed his throat through the close beard.

            “Blayce was necessary. I grant him vile, but the children were necessary too. His necromancy could not control adults souls.”

            “Blayce was vile and I do _not_ grant him necessary. Nor do the gods, or the dragons. You sold children in your care to a _nicor_ and for that you die, that children may live.”

            “It was necessary.”

            “It was wrong, and the timeway has turned.”

            Again he didn’t understand the plain truth of it, and fell silent though his breathing and her own continued to rasp over the field and men moving on it. She dared not take her eyes from his while he stared but his gaze dropped and she saw muscles slump, forcing her to drop the glaive a fraction to keep it against his skin. He was waiting, and she risked a glance to her side, seeing Raoul with sword in hand and many men beyond him. She prayed, feeling silver fire withdraw, hovering somewhere, and risked the question, finding her voice again her own.

            “What’s happening, Raoul?”

            “Coerced men coming, Kel. Leaders, anyway, standards high. Everyone’s off the roadway and men are closing in but their weapons are sheathed. We’re outnumbered but it’s the truce you ordered.”

            “Honour those clanchiefs and chiefsmen when they arrive. Are there loyalist officers standing?”

            “None above sergeant, I think. Bjornsson’s dead and everyone who rode against us. We need healers.”

            Silver flowed back and her voice boomed again, in Common so the Scanrans would understand. “Healers to the field. Whatever passes, none will strike until the injured are tended. Healers to the field.” She waited for the flush of power to withdraw. “Who’s injured?”

            “Alanna and Wyldon both need healing and she’s too woozy to do it. Others too, some critical.”

            They’d be familiar names and faces but she didn’t want to know yet who was dead. Except for one special case. “Genlith?”

            “Macayhill lanced him.”

            So his blood at least wasn’t on her hands. “Ebony, make sure the King knows.”

            “Telling.”

            Maggur looked up again, eyes widening. “A darking? Gissa said they’d all gone to the Dragonlands.”

            “They’re back. So are dragons.”

            “That was illusion!”

            “It’s fire wasn’t.” Her glaive didn’t waiver as she contemplated his baffled frown.

            “Kel, the clanchiefs are here, and centaurs are coming too.”

            “Healers?”

            “Baird’s just left the corral. Neal’s with him and others.”

            “Deal with them, please. We need one rank of witnesses ourselves—whoever’s senior and standing. The rest should make way for Scanrans and centaurs. And whoever else comes.”

            “On it, Kel. Imrah, did you hear? Get …”

            His voice faded as he turned away but she heard movement and was aware of a crowd ringing her, swirling as people arrived and were made way for or increased inward pressure. There was sweat on Maggur’s forehead and a vein pulsing at his temple; her heart was booming and her arm aching, but her hand was steady.

            “A king dies as well as a man, Maggur Reidarsson. Is there aught you would say or do for your people before the end?”

            “For my people? There are none left who matter.”

            “Wrong again, your last mistake the same as your first.”

            Raoul returned. “Healers are here, Kel. Wyldon’s on his feet and Alanna’s sitting up, cursing axes. What’s the plan?”

            “ _Blódbeallár_. I kill him and it’s done. They’ll withdraw.”

            “Um, I think there’s a complication, Kel. The chiefsmen are saying they need to find out about the hostages.”

            Maggur wheezed a laugh. “I bet they are. Legal fools. If you’re going to kill me, woman, get on with it. I’ve nothing to say to them, or you. Ngh!”

            Kel pivoted, changing grip on the glaive so she could stand beside him with its blade at the same point on his throat, fresh blood trickling where it had twisted in place. She no longer had to keep eyes on him because with her glaive across both hands the pressure keeping its tip to his throat told her exactly how he moved, and she let her vision widen. She stood on one side of a square, Tortallans and centaurs flanking her, Scanrans packing the other sides—to her right loyalists who’d been on the roadway, shock in their eyes, and elsewhere cleaner, straighter men, armoured but unarmed, clan standards above them in the westering sun. She prayed, and the silver tingle returned.

            “Clanchiefs and chiefsmen of Scanra, who speaks for you?”

            After fierce glances a man stepped forward, a standard bearer with him. He wasn’t the biggest but walked like a fighter to avoid with a burning look in his eyes. He spoke in Common.

            “I speak for Scanra. Stenmun Gunnarsson, Clan Somalkt. You are the Protector of the Small?”

            Kel nodded. “I am, Stenmun Gunnarsson of Clan Somalkt, and I have heard of the Bloody Plains. Maggur Reidarsson falls to my glaive, as his clanhome and _beserkir_ fell to my fire. _Blódbeallár_ is complete, and the oaths you and all men have sworn to Maggur are void. What will you do?”

            “If you let us we will depart, but we would know of Maggur where he holds our kin hostage.”

            “You don’t know?”

            Kel’s surprise was genuine and Maggur wheezed his laugh. “My men hold them fast and secret and news of my death will see throats cut.”

            “Their deaths avail you nothing, Maggur.” Gunnarsson’s voice had risen. “Will you drag all Scanra into death and chaos with you?”

            “I will, Stenmun, and rejoice. I should have burned Somalkt, not watered its dusty earth.”

            “No, Maggur Reidarsson, you will not.” The last piece clicked in Kel’s mind as she saw a shadow flit across the ground, and she raised her voice, feeling air crack again as her call echoed from the fin and rolled downvalley. “I call the Stone Wing Nation. Come, feed on a king.”

            Maggur’s exclamation was drowned in chopping wingbeats as stormwings gathered. To Kel the silence was intense when they shifted into glides, spiralling into her vision already committed to landing. Scanrans were pushing back men behind them, the sides of the square breaking. Fear and terror washing ahead of the stormwings lapped around Kel like tide against a rock but she saw Maggur twitch and Stenmun was ducking away, face contorted.

            “Hold! They come in justice, not war. Hold and witness.”

            Her voice compelled but the ragged oval into which Barzha and Hebakh glided ahead of their nation was a lot bigger than the square had been. Cloestra and Amourta were among them, and feathers blazed as wings cupped them to their usual awkward landings, steel claws scoring turf to slow ungainly trots, but no-one was jeering as soldiers often did at the sight. Barzha hopped to within a dozen paces of where she stood by Maggur, cocking her head in enquiry that became real as Kel took one hand from the glaive, stabbing it upwards on a bearing that her muscles knew though her mind didn’t, and brought it down again to point to the ground at her side. Stenmun and other clanchiefs looked bewildered as silence stretched before a ringing cry preceded a tawny-orange shape that bounced to a skidding halt before trotting to her side and booting at her greave. It was only hours since she’d seen Junior as she flew along the fin and it felt like months. Barzha nodded.

            “Protector?” Her voice was silky, and Kel saw men shudder.

            “Your Majesty, this man sold children to be raped and slain, and would die with a secret untold, slaying more of his people’s young. Will you of your grace persuade him otherwise and usher him hence?”

            Every stormwing gave cackling shrieks that rang from the cliffs, and Kel saw Amourta bating excitement as her teeth glinted. Only Barzha and Hebakh were still and the queen’s smile was wide and deadly.

            “Gladly, Protector. Yet if you stand with him at the focus we cannot shield you wholly from what he will feel.”

            “Then so it must be, for my glaive will not leave his throat until he speaks what his people would know. In the presence of a griffin, Maggur Reidarsson, you can speak no lie. So Freja Haraldsdottir found, and the truth I demand as the price of your release to the Black God is where you hold your hostages.”

            His eyes were defiant and terrible but already stormwings were shuffling closer, heads swaying, crooning as they had for Amourta’s hatching but in a different register, saw-tooth notes that buzzed in Kel’s gut and spine. Junior didn’t seem bothered, looking curiously at approaching immortals and white-faced men beyond, but she could feel fears hammering at her and Maggur lacked whatever protection she was getting. It was the same as the elemental’s technique but with every secret fear rising at once. Though she knew it was only imagination she saw the _beserkir_ raging through breached walls, and felt New Hope dying around her, Tobe and Irnai trampled, Neal and Yuki gutted, Ryokel’s cut-off wail, her people and friends and father, her king caught stupidly in the open, all hacked down, Dom unable to flee on his twisting, useless leg. Mindelan smoked in ruin and animals were dying too, hyenas cracking horse bones in jaws that could break stone, and a tauros roared, dragonfire blasting from flat nostrils to set the earth into incandescent blaze. All became ash and blew away, infinite gulfs and voids opening around her and her balance fled as if she swayed above them, but her feet hurt, Junior’s wounds pulsing, and she could feel them on the earth, like the pressure on the glaive in her hands as Maggur writhed. Her face was beaded with sweat, her stomach roiling, but she knew where she stood and why, and Maggur no longer even knew that he knelt. His face and body were in rictus, lips drawn back in what had been a snarl and was fading into a wail. His eyes rolled wildly and the stench told her he had voided himself. He began to slump and she withdrew her glaive to stop him skewering himself but silvered magic leaped from Barzha and he did not fall. A flapping hop took her to his side, extended wings flashing sunlight into his eyes, making him cry out wordlessly; her voice was water trickling past that deadly, saw-tooth croon rising from every stormwing, clustered wing to wing.

            “Where do you hold them?”

            “Ættrengar.”

            The word was a shriek but Kel heard it clearly. Her eyes met Stenmun Gunnarsson’s, wide in a sweating face, and he nodded.

            “We know it. It is enough.”

            Kel’s fears fell away like old skin as beating pressure eased and she nodded serenely to Barzha, whose extended wing slashed forward, rippling sunlight, and spun Maggur’s head impossibly high into the air. Movement became a spring, wings beating as she launched herself after it. Other stormwings were lumbering skyward, little Amourta quickest, rising above them, but Kel eye’s were on the spinning, falling head as it passed the top of its towering arc and tumbled to its inevitable meeting with the steel claw that flashed to pluck it from air, and swing it high into another soaring climb. Stormwing cackles exploded as they surged after it. There was no blood spilling from it and Kel’s eyes dropped to the kneeling torso, which had rocked back onto its heels, arms flaccid, and she saw it had not bled either. The neck stump was seared black, a single steel feather embedded in it, and no-one knew whether to stare at it or watch the stormwings dancing away towards Haven and Spidren Wood beyond, and the black dot that rose and fell above them.

            “The stormwings play above the Greenwoods, and this war is ended.” Junior’s cry rang, affirming truth that echoed from the cliffs. “Stenmun Gunnarsson, nor you nor any Scanran has a king. If I say, take men and supplies you need and ride for Ættrengar, will all Scanrans keep peace until you return?”

             She saw silver fire sparkle on his lips and shock piled on shock in his eyes, but the voice that rang across the field was firm and clear.

            “Yes, Protector. If enough may ride with your blessing to save our kin, all will hold the truce of the _blódbeallár_ until we return.”

            “Then choose who you need, appoint a man to speak in your stead, and send orders to those elsewhere to withdraw. How long will it be before you return?”

            “Ættrengar is a week’s ride north of Hamrkeng.”

            And Hamrkeng was two weeks away. Six weeks would be the end of March, and Stenmun would have more to do than secure hostages.

            “Then return by Beltane, and come with whom you must to end this war and prevent the next by gods’ oath and solemn treaty.”

            “I will.”

            His hands crossed over his heart, fists clenched, and Junior cried again at truth. A sigh like summer wind rippled through Scanran ranks, and arms clashed on chests as they echoed his gesture. Kel heard Tortallans sigh too as they absorbed an end to hostilities, feeling the _blódbeallár_ truce grip the field, and wondered what in the mortal realms she was supposed to do next.

 

* * * * *

 

In the event, so far as Kel was concerned, deepening dusk and neverending evening became entirely surreal. It wasn’t long before Stenmun—why did he have to share that name?—came to tell her who rode with him—one chiefsman and a dozen warriors from each coerced clan—and name his deputy, Harald Svensson of Clan Higegeard. Nor was there any delay before messengers left for Steadfast, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Northwatch, bearing commands to withdraw to Hamrkeng over the seal of the ring once on Maggur’s hand, that Stenmun had taken without disturbing the corpse. Kel endured feeling increasingly light-headed, growing pain in her feet, and a great desire never again to see a stormwing feather blazoning a stump, because it was easier not to move until the bustle sorted out. But as the sound of hooves faded everything slid into absurdity.

            The problem was that _every_ Scanran was determined to see Maggur’s corpse and her at close range for themselves, and given the evident tensions between surviving loyalists and coerced clansmen there was good reason to enforce individual oaths. But Kel was not going to go on standing by headless Maggur, or at all given the pain of Junior’s perforations, and as night fell she hobbled to the stonebridge road where icelights cast a soft glow. Raoul brought a chair from Maggur’s pavilion, and though she glared she wanted to sit too much to wait for a different seat. Whitelist and Junior came with her, as did Tortallan witnesses—Imrah and Macayhill, nursing bruises, Terres and Ennor, unharmed and wide-eyed, Wyldon with a cut across face and brow, bisecting the hurrok scars on his cheek, and Alanna grumbling about the deep slash she’d taken. She asked the King if he wished to attend but Ebony reported a bland instruction to ‘carry on’; other Councillors did come from New Hope, including Turomot, Disart, Nond, Harailt, Numair, and her father. She didn’t dare do more than clasp his hand because if she once felt herself safe in his arms she’d go to pieces, and hoped he understood. That was all well enough, she supposed grumpily, but as Scanrans began to approach the adult griffins decided oaths were their business and glided in to sit on either side of her. At the same time St’aara and Var’istaan arrived with Amiir’aan and Bel’iira, to see mortal history in the making, and Kuriaju, Fanche and Saefas, accompanying Tobe, and Zerhalm with Irnai, whose smile silenced all objections to a child’s presence on an uncleared battlefield. Then alarmed shouts announced Quenuresh and Aldoven, the great spidren offering Kel one of her ironic looks before falling into conversation with the griffins.

            The final touch came because Tobe had taken one look at her and spoken to Wyldon. Baird had been busy among the Scanran wounded but came in response to the summons and insisted on treating Kel’s feet. She was equally insistent she wasn’t stopping the parade of men, their eyes nervously flicking to Quenuresh and the griffins before resting on her as they swore to keep peace until the set terms were fulfilled. Loyalists came first, sweaty and stained, not unwilling but shocky with all they’d been through and from the sight of Maggur’s torso upright before his pavilion, feathered neck pointing to the stars. Delaying them wasn’t a good idea but Baird didn’t think delaying treatment was either, and she wound up watching nervous Scanrans swear while a duke knelt to ease sabatons, boots, and socks from her feet, wincing when he saw Junior’s work. Kel was conscious that it was undignified and silly, but no-one seemed to mind and the retreat of light-headedness as Baird’s green fire cleaned and healed told her he hadn’t been wrong.

            Dom helped. He came on Butter, bringing veterans who so far as Kel could tell just felt like seeing things for themselves, and she couldn’t have cared less who saw her clasp his hand tightly. Peachblossom and Hoshi had also come, and seeing the big gelding beyond Dom she had to suppress laughter that would have raced beyond control when she realised what a picture they made—bandaged foot, braced leg, and Peachblossom with his stuck-together bones. Alder too had a hoof he was treating gingerly, having—Tobe said—landed on a Scanran, so they were a halt quartet and she wondered about the lameness she’d asked the gods to impose on Torhelm and the timeway’s love of reflections.

            But perhaps it was only Lord Sakuyo’s love of the ridiculous, for the gravity of what was happening as mortals, immortals, and People shared witness was in Scanran faces, especially as dazed loyalists gave way to coerced men. They hadn’t been fighting and were still primed from the illusion Quenuresh had spun. The truths Kel had conjured into reality, witness of the remorseless slaughter culminating in dragonfire, and the speed with which it had spun out into all that happened to Maggur had them reeling; abrupt hope for kin because of it—because of _her_ —made them solemn, hands across hearts, thanking her as they swore.

            With a clearer head there was no excuse for not facing the butcher’s bill, and her heart cramped. Seaver had died in the charge, with Kelner, Varlan, Pedrintor, and more, stopping loyalists who had tried ferociously to reach their king. Baird hoped to save Brodhelm’s leg and Prosper’s arm, but both would carry impairments as well as scars. When Uinse found her to add the tallies from the alures it was worse—Harrel, Deren, Ersen, Olleric, Anner and nearly a hundred more had fallen to arrows and bolts; men from every company, and volunteers. Serious injuries were fewer—at the distances involved bolts tended to miss or kill—but Connac was in the infirmary with a shattered shoulder and Mikal had lost two fingers, clipped neatly from his hand. In the five days since the traitors’ attack more than a quarter of her command had died, a quarter of the troops she’d borrowed, and more among escort squads and veterans; the only consolation was that not one civilian had died, nor any immortal save giants, so she’d done the job though she shouldn’t have had to and the blood on King Jonathan’s hands was as thick as that on her own.

            It was nearly midnight and her mood as sour as her belly before it was done. Harald Svensson had reserved last place for himself and after swearing came stiffly forward.

            “The field is yours until Stenmun Gunnarsson returns, Protector. What would you have us do?”

            Kel had had time to think through what was needed. “The living have priority, Harald. Get their tents cleared and set up next to yours, please, and send any who need treatment to the healers. Gather what food you have—we’ll sort more. And though your weapons remain your own all who walk beyond your camp save to hunt will walk unarmed, as my people will. It’s so much harder to use a weapon you don’t have.”

            A dry smile split his face. “Wisdom, Protector. I will order it so.”

            “Thank you, Harald. And then the dead.”

            “Yes. Many of them.”

            “They have to be cleared. Our dead will lie at Haven—on the knoll, there. What would you do with yours?”

            He shrugged. “Most would wish to burn but it will be a grim business and I know not how so much flesh may be consumed.”

            “That’s not a problem but clearing is. Get started when you can on heaping your bodies and undertaking any individual rites you wish.”

            “What of Maggur Reidarsson?”

            “Do you claim his body?”

            “No. It is yours by right.”

            “And I don’t want it at all. He’ll burn with the men he led to their deaths and his own. Meantime leave him—he can watch and wonder.”

            “But he—as you say, Protector. Is there anything else?”

            “Oh yes, Harald, lots, starting with you telling me and my king what you all think is needed to bring lasting peace to this border, but today’s been too long and if I don’t eat soon I’m going to fall down.”

            Startled at her frankness, he wasn’t going to deny she’d earned her rest. Then there were Councillors to deal with but she turned them ruthlessly over to Turomot and her father. The immortals, gods be thanked, looked after themselves, though she took time to scratch Junior’s head and thank him, as well as managing a wobbly bow to his parents. She’d never put her sabatons back on, and during the long rites had shed vambraces and rerebraces, greaves and cuisses, so she was back to half-armour and boots—and a good thing, for using the roadway was out of the question and with Alder limping despite Zerhalm’s treatment she had to ride Hoshi to the corral. Once there the further distance to her bed seemed intolerable, and after giving Uinse her order that no-one went armed outside the walls save to hunt, she trudged up to Dom’s room, shed breastplate and boots, decided hunger had to wait, and slid down an infinite dark slope into Lord Gainel’s arms.

            She didn’t wake until mid-morning, and without remembering any of her dreams knew gods were pleased and dragons content with her use of their gift. She was covered in a blanket and someone had treated her feet again; they ached but no more, and though she felt stiff and grimy she also felt at peace—and by all the gods was. Not since she’d arrived at Haven had she believed—not hoped—that a day might pass without killing or casualties and it was a marvellous tingling. And someone had left clean clothes on the chair and a ewer of water that was still warm. Feeling human again she found the corral bustling with horses being moved back through the tunnel, Scanran ponies tucking contentedly into hay, and a squad on the alure whose sergeant told her everyone else was helping clear the field. That proved exaggeration, for caves and main level were bustling with people moving belongings back to barracks, but the duty watch was skeletal and a glance through the open gate persuaded her she didn’t want to deal with anything beyond until she’d eaten—and not then, though she’d have to. The kitchens were preparing lunch and food for the injured, but the cooks hastened to whip up a huge plate she demolished. Thoughts of what awaited kept her from repletion but she was feeling less hollow when Yuki slid onto the bench next to her, Ryokel dozing in her arms.

            “Keladry- _chan_. How are you?”

            Kel considered, enjoying Ryokel’s breathing and the pretty Yamani shawl she was wrapped in. “I’m not sure, Yuki. Happy, I suppose, when it sinks in, and sick at the thought of what’s going on out there. Yesterday seems a long time ago or far away—it’s the timeway, I expect.”

            “Perhaps. Neal is very pleased about you and Dom, by the way.”

            “He is?” Maybe the improbable was still happening.

            Yuki dimpled. “Now he has got over arm-waving. So is everyone.”

            “Are they? That’s nice, not that it’s any of their business. How’s the infirmary? I should come over.”

            “No-one else has died and the injured heal. And no, it isn’t their business but their pleasure. You have become a great tale, Keladry- _chan_ , and they are part of it. But they are also happy for you because you are not so alone any more.” Kel looked down but Yuki forced her chin up with a gentle hand. “Be happy for them and yourself. We are Lord Sakuyo’s Blessed and he was near when the thunder stopped.”

            That idea hadn’t occurred to Kel and she blinked, thinking it over. “I don’t know about then, Yuki, but I’ll swear he was with me on the fin because it was such a good joke it should come down to me and the highest a mortal can get around here. It was his extra-loudness I prayed to borrow in the field and I suppose dropping Takemahou- _sensei’_ ‘s overhang on Gissa and Tolon when they wanted it to shelter them is the sort of thing he’d like. But the thunder? I know it’s like Kumo’s verse but that was the timeway, I think.”

            “You prayed to use his voice? And were granted it.” Yuki shook her head, eyes wide and very Yamani.

            “Well, the gods’ work was done by then. It was the giants they were bothered about, not Maggur, really—he was a mortal problem but I think Lord Sakuyo was amused by … by having The Girl win the battle by stopping it.” Kel grinned at her friend. “If you ask me, Lord Mithros quite likes me because I’m an honest warrior and Lord Sakuyo likes me more because I’m such a good joke on Tortallan ones. I’ve no idea what the Goddess wants of me, or the Black God, but I think yesterday was what they could all agree on, and they do want peace, even Lord Mithros. The hoohah about the timeway must have been very trying for them, so let’s hope they’re all feeling in need of a nice long nap.”

            “Keladry!”

            “I know, Yuki, but really.” The Black God especially deserved some rest from his labour. “I must go. There are dead men to burn.”

            “Yes. Baird is very concerned.”

            “I bet. I think there’s a way, Yuki. Give Neal my love? And Ryokel when she wakes?”

            Walking back to the gate she saw the King with Vanget on the north tower roof and decided to ignore him as long as he let her; it was easier. Instead she took a deep breath and went through the barbican, steeling herself. Further away it wasn’t too bad—most trampled tents had gone, the encampment down the valley looked orderly, and people were moving purposefully about. And the middle ground of the field had been cleared of corpses, or rather, had them moved into a growing stack in one place, weapons piled beside them. But around her they were still thickly strewn, and the gore beyond description. New Hope’s clearance of its walls had not extended beyond the breach, and from the look of it had involved slinging Scanran dead back out. Anger flickered in Kel’s breast but there would have been Tortallan injured to search for, and if the men doing that _had_ carried Scanran corpses from inside the breach all the way out through the tower, what would they have done with them? Besides, if she was right it wouldn’t matter, and if she wasn’t the indignity hardly mattered next to what had to be cleared from the pits. Men were making grim progress up the roadway, and a path had been beaten to where others built piles, but they weren’t a tenth of the way up, the business of the pits hadn’t begun, and giants hung bloatedly from the abatis and bumped in the moat. Looking up she could see a mob of Tortallans around Maggur’s pavilion and Numair and Harailt crouched where the trebuchet had been. Kel went to have words.

            “I know it’s ugly for you and I’m sorry, but it’s going to be ghastly anyway and take so long we’ll be dealing with more than bodies. The moat is also going to stink worse than it already does unless we fix it. And I’m all out of divine favours today, but I do have two in a quiver if we can make it possible to use one.”

            Numair smiled tiredly. His eyes were shadowed although he’d recharged from opals. “Alright Kel. Gods know the problem’s real and I was wondering how we could help but I hadn’t thought so … directly. And if it’s going to be bad for us I bet it’ll set the Hag laughing like one of her hyenas. Bonedancer will be sorry to miss it too.”

            An hour later both mages were dressed in clothes for burning afterwards, and Kel ushered them through the gate. The alure was still filling with people and many Scanrans had yet to come from their encampment, but as the smell hit them both grimaced and went to work. Pipes raised, they caught one another’s eyes, Numair’s foot set a driving beat, and the first notes sounded, compelling the dead to rise and walk.

            The Sorcerer’s Dance could be used for anything a mage wanted moving; the rest was a trade off between power and weight, and these men had built New Hope moving vastly greater weights of stone than even Kel could amass in corpses. To raise bodies and sway them down the roadway was magically straightforward but sheer numbers presented a problem and the furthest down the roadway had to drop in rows until others slid dragging legs over them. The movement of the wave was slow while bodies massed around gatehouse and breach were cleared, and each pit was a separate operation, utterly grotesque—corpse after corpse, pierced and slashed by the spikes, crushed by men who’d run over them, swaying up and out to drag off down the way and join a transferred heap, eventually to progress again.

            No-one was interested in lunch and when the last pit was cleared, in mid-afternoon, the mages took a break before Numair went round via the corral to the foot of the roadway and the pipes started again. This time bodies at the bottom moved first, sliding and bumping over the moatbridge and away towards the piles, and disconcerting as it remained it was far faster. Alanna had been recruited, with two spells running, one army healers used to find anything that ought to be removed from a body in the field—identification, anything stolen, and valuables a man’s kin might want—and a version of the disarm spell that plucked out any weapons still on the corpses, even the arrows most bore in flesh. Senior Scanrans of each clan and loyalist sergeants stood with clerks to name and list the dead as they swayed to ungainly rest, and take charge of anything spell-stripped. Tortallans were there to name any of the traitors they could, note fief badges, and receive property. Then only giants remained, and the sight of vast, bloated and reeking bodies rising from abatis and moat for their last shambling journey was so far beyond anyone’s experience Kel thought none knew if they’d rather find the way to laughter or howl despair at the waste of it all, and so were mute until it was done. It was at least swift, and afternoon light lingered when Maggur’s body was brought, locked in its kneeling position.

            The final phase began, all three mages starting again at the gatehouse, using raw power to scour blood and whatever else remained from the rock. To Kel’s approval the King joined them, blue fire among black, red, and purple, and didn’t shirk the work needed around breach and pits. Dragonfire had helped, and with only rock beneath no delicacy was needed, but it was dusk when they reached the moatbridge, and full dark by the time they’d walked the moat, pouring power into its water. Numair had warned Kel more would be needed and she didn’t doubt it, but the lessening smell and symbolic completion mattered. The dark suited Kel now, and after she’d fetched what she needed she stood under icelight on the roadway, Numair’s hand on her neck.

            “Men of Scanra, I come to burn the dead. I did not know or command them, and cannot speak for them. Would any say anything of them ere our cleansing of this field ends?” She gave it a full minute, but Harald hadn’t thought there’d be any takers and he was right. “Then I will say only they were brave, and loyal in their cause. I regret the need for their deaths and ask the Black God of his grace to grant all who have died here his mercy, save Maggur Reidarsson alone, and take them to the company of their forefathers.”

            She’d already opened the quiver and strung the godbow, so it was the work of seconds to find her stance and nock. She had her arching glove to prevent a second burn and felt only warmth as the sunbird arrow soared into the air. This time she was able to admire the fiery arch it made before vanishing into the mound of corpses, and see the whole, vile thing began to glow, brighter and brighter, outermost bodies, mortal and giant, outlined against incandescence before they became incandescent themselves and were lost in the glory of light. Maggur too blazed white, the only distinct shape. Heat warmed her face but there was no smoke or noise, only blinding radiance and after a while a swift slump into ash for the night breeze to pluck at. It would have to be sacked up, but New Hope was clean and only her own dead remained.

            Their funerals took the whole of the next day, although Kel buried them in batches while volunteers dug grave after grave, barely keeping pace with wagons rolling across the valley. Comrades and officers of the slain were willing they be buried where they’d fallen, and she didn’t distinguish New Hope’s own from those who had become so. She explained the customs she’d begun, but the time it took wasn’t because memories were spoken for all—everyone kept their heartsease brief—but because there were so many witnesses that moving from batch to batch was a slow process, and because there were so many dead of whom she had her own brief memory to speak, or more. Over Varlan’s grave she recalled his help against the tauroses; over Kelner’s, Ersen’s, and Olleric’s their unstinting service; and over Seaver’s, with Neal and a white-faced Prosper, cocooned arm in a sling, that long ago meeting with hill bandits and the courage he’d shown overcoming his fear of spidrens.

            The stormwings hadn’t been seen since their shrieking flight north, but other immortals were there, including Quenuresh, and the King. He didn’t interrupt, though his amazement grew steadily as chimes sounded, wind soughing in dead calm as Kel declared the Black God’s grace to those who died in New Hope’s service; and he spoke over Seaver’s grave, mourning a knight of Tortall and for Tasride. The Council was there, Blue Harbour’s hand swathed, Wyldon’s cut stark on his white face, and everyone’s faces drawn as the interminable day wore on. Nond had to be found a seat, and after a moment of eye wrestling Turomot accepted one also, but others stood. Runnerspring was present under guard. With a truce declared Uinse had discontinued his dreamrose without waiting for Kel’s order, and when he’d come round he’d been bluntly informed of events; whether he’d believed it before he saw the Scanran encampment was moot but he knew what was happening as he watched Genlith buried beside Rogal. The bodies of traitor knights and men had burned with the Scanran dead and no-one had objected, but Macayhill had asked Genlith be buried so he could make his peace with the man he’d killed, and formal infamy didn’t seem wrong to Kel, though she told him bluntly his peace was his business. None would speak at Genlith’s grave.

            Rogal had been a man under orders, whatever they had been, and his actions peccadilloes next to Genlith’s crimes; she had forgiven him but given him no headstone, allowing him to hire oblivion in dying. Genlith had chosen in wealthy privilege to conspire in the deaths of thousands and for him she had a headstone—headwood—carved plain:

_Here lies a Lord of Genlith_  
_who sold and slew his own_  
_and was buried without tears_  
_or plea for the Black God’s mercy._

The body was interred in silence and Kel placed the headwood with cold precision, then stood aside as Amiir’aan set the words in jet-black obsidian to endure wind and weather, and afterwards took his paw and walked with him away from the dead. On the road, going slowly for the sake of the young, elderly, and injured who followed, her father caught her up, face pensive.

            “My dear, you have a vocation as a priest if being warrior, diplomat, and mouthpiece of gods doesn’t keep you busy. A formidable teacher, too—that headstone will be known across Tortall. If anyone had told me I’d see you transform the Council in fourteen months, or that Turomot could be made to sit in deference to his age, I’m sorry to say I shouldn’t have believed a word. And thinking about that I realised I really should ask the warrior and diplomat who did it what she intends to do next. Do you know?”

            Kel had to wait several steps before she had herself under control, but her father’s familiar, courteous playfulness gliding over commitment to his calling was a mode she could deal with. He was Kel’s Papa, the Protector’s fellow Councillor, and a duke of the realm.

            “Some of it. It depends who Gunnarsson comes back with.”

            “Because of _blódbeallár_?”

            “Partly, Papa, but do you remember saying you couldn’t imagine the shape a treaty could take? I’m hoping this truce will become an excuse for something more, a way for us to try to do what needs to be done to settle this border properly.”

            “Then it also depends on who the King comes back with—if he were going away, that is.”

            Kel managed not to trip. “You’re joking.”

            “I’m afraid not. It’s mid-February and he has to be back for Beltane. He might get six weeks in Corus, and he’d spend them dealing with the monumental consequences of fiefs that are or will be vacant, and reassuring many people who are going to be highly perturbed by proceedings. So he has concluded, reasonably, that he’s better off staying put. He can let a deal of dirty work be done in Corus while he is sheltered by your name and New Hope’s and the news of what has happened. But he is therefore here, and it will be a while before those he will summon arrive.”

            “He’d better tell them to bring food and bedrolls.”

            He laughed. “True, my dear, and I’ll make the logistical point.”

            “You can remind him he’s still a guest in a military command as well. He can come and consult me about what’s possible.”

            “Mmm. I wondered if you were feeling like that. He’s wondering too, and worried. You stand in a moment of great power and he doesn’t know how you intend to use it.”

            “He ought to have the idea by now.” Kel was sadder than angry. “The children have had enough war for a lifetime, not just a generation. Me too. And I will use any power I have to make sure the killing stops. If he thinks I’m not serving him well enough tell him I’m serving Roald and Shinko and his grandchildren better.”

            “Excellent—a policy he can understand and approve even when it galls. And there is a question of who exactly he does summon, my dear. Do you have a view?”

            Kel was silent for a dozen paces before she sighed. “The logistics is a real problem, but in principle let them all come. It has to be a settlement for the north—of Tortall, all of it, so let all come to witness. What will matter is who’s at the table, when there is one, and that’s Council and Army as well as royal business. I’m sure Vanget and Turomot can remind His Majesty if it slips his mind. Besides, whatever works has to work for the Contés as much as for the Council of Ten.”

            “True, though I confess I’ve little idea what that might be. Mmm. It seems an impious way of putting it, but are gods at the table too?”

            “I don’t think so, Papa. Not in any straightforward sense. There may be, um, issues arising from the skullroad, and anything signed at New Hope will be subject to their approval, but I don’t think they care very much how we get to a peace as long as we do.”

            “They keep others at the table, then.”

            “Yes, maybe. But immortals will do that. You might suggest His Majesty practices speaking under the Honesty Gate so he doesn’t get flummoxed when he can’t lie in the presence of griffins.”

            Her father transformed a snort into a cough. “I will, perhaps not in that way. You mean Quenuresh and Kuriaju to be present? And Barzha?”

            “I can’t speak for Barzha, but the others, certainly. The _blódbeallár_ truce extends to lands they hold by treaty.”

            “So it does. Splendid. I don’t believe _blódbeallár_ recognises immortals, though.”

            “That’s its problem. I declared the truce and signed the treaties. Stenmun can try telling Quenuresh she doesn’t count. I’d like to know where those giants were heading, as well.”

            “Ah. I ... don’t see at all.”

            “They were coerced too. I’ve never spoken to a giant, but if one’s willing I’ll start. And I’ll tell you who I want to come, besides Mama, and that’s Daine, Kitten, Kawit, and Thayet. And every page in training—spring field trip.”

            Her father digested this. “Thayet, certainly. Roald and Shinko too, I expect. Daine also, and that means Skysong. May I ask why Kawit?”

            “Because she’s adult _wyrm_ and as moderator she’ll work wonders.”

            “Moderator? My word, yes. And the pages?”

            “First-hand orientation, you might say.”

            “The fourth years will be due their big tests.”

            “Anyone judging those tests ought to be here anyway.”

            “You have an answer for everything.”

            “Piffle.”

            He laughed. “Of course it is. But it has seemed so, this past week. I find it hard to believe my feet are on the ground.”

            “Well, here’s a distraction to stop you floating away, Papa.” She took Dom’s hand. “It might encourage even Avinor into the sunlight for once. Beltane is a traditional time for handfastings, and Midsummer for weddings, especially when the bride will be twenty-one. But there is one tricky thing for your pride, Papa.”

            He managed not to stumble. “Oh, my dear. That’s splendid. Congratulations to you both, warm congratulations. Your mother will be as delighted as I am.” The rest of what she’d said caught up with him. “Ah, _this_ Midsummer you mean? Are you, um—”

            “No.” Kel managed to look indignant. “And I didn’t mean your consent either, though I should have. His Majesty’s providing the dowry, but you mustn’t be insulted. Think of Mindelan. And though he’ll be paying, he won’t be giving me away.”

            It was his turn to be silent for a dozen paces before he smiled. “Diplomacy and a wedding—a very traditional association, if not in quite this configuration. And I believe you and I must have a rather longer conversation than we managed the other day, Domitan.”

            “I shall borrow Kel’s tea-set, Your Grace, though I’m afraid I can’t sit cross-legged very well. And I must check with His Grace of Wellam how I become Tobe’s adoptive father. I confess I haven’t a clue.”

            “Ah. Nor I. I believe there’s something about Kel’s heirs of the body in the adoption papers, but nothing about their sires that I recall.”

            Dom grinned. “We’ll be fixing that, then. Oh, and Kel, Tobe tells me Peachblossom wants to be best horse.”

            “Dom! You’re making that up.”

            “I’m not. We did grooming together this morning while you were pattern dancing. I wondered about gelding of honour, so Hoshi can be a bridesmare. Alder’s jealous though.”

            Kel’s father smiled with delight. “Horse diplomacy! Marvellous. We must refer to my Lord of Cavall.” He peered up at her mischievously, expecting her at least to roll her eyes, but the lunacy wasn’t misplaced and there was a matter he could best deal with.

            “You do that, Papa. I don’t doubt Peachblossom will be there in some capacity, and all the world by the ears. Hearing thunder stop, probably—ask yourself, who’d _really_ be amused by a gelding of honour at the wedding of a Tortallan lady knight? And in all seriousness, while I’ll write to Patricine and Toshuro, will you inform His Imperial Majesty two of Sakuyo’s Blessed are to wed? More than two, probably—Fanche and Saefas and others I handfasted at Lughnasad will be minded to wed themselves, I bet, and they all want _me_ to marry them so I shall probably wind up marrying myself. They’ll hear the laughter in Yaman.”

            “I’ll certainly send a note, my dear, but I believe a different priest is traditional. And I thought you said the gods’ business was done.”

            “For the war, Papa. And I’m not so sure it was necromancy after all, unless Blayce was Chaos-touched. It was Uusoae’s legacy, and Ozorne’s—immortals in the mortal realms. Daine calls it Dunlath Part II. But for weddings?” She shrugged. “I told Yuki I hoped the gods all wanted a nice nap after the fuss with the timeway, but I was thinking about it, when I proposed to Dom actually.” She smiled, because he’d been in no position to refuse, not that he’d wanted to. “Lord Mithros might but tricksters won’t, and every well-brought-up Yamani girl invites Lord Sakuyo in case he’s insulted enough to turn up anyway. Work it out.”

            They led the procession up the roadway in alarmed silence.


	29. Warison

**Part VIII – Beltane**

_February – August 463 HE_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Twenty-Nine — Warison**

_15 February – 15 April_

 

There was a great deal to be done. Soil carts had accumulated, not to mention laundry, and a great many things had to be moved back to their proper places. The roadway had to be restored, and with mages and blazebalm on hand Kel saw no reason not to do the job properly, replacing mageblasts and bombs as well as restoring the pitcovers, though the new keys were kept locked in her safe. Once wagons could again pass up and down restarting cultivation and fieldcare became a priority, but there were other things for which ogre strength was needed. Palisades and alure needed to be repaired, broken sections drawn like rotted teeth and new wood emplaced for petrification, impromptu but heavy awnings taken down, broken casts removed from killing field and glacis, and cracked arrows from rooves and gutters. And besides all the physical legacies of the siege, Kel had her hands full with paperwork: decency required her to write to the kin of her dead and the army demanded she notify commands, quartermasters, and those responsible for pensions. After which there was the troubling consideration that the Scanrans _didn’t_ have a great deal to do.

            Provided they came unarmed and made declarations under the Honesty Gate, Kel gave them access to the main level, though it meant posting guards to secure areas that were off-limits and ensuring the King and others were escorted when not safely behind doors. And with little else to occupy them, the Scanrans came, at first in small groups, then larger ones and as individuals, cautiously looking around with fascination. Many watched the ongoing repairs with more than military interest, and basilisk abilities to loosen and set stone as well as petrify set tongues wagging; immortals dwelling in friendship fascinated them, and many were quick to offer help hauling or scrubbing. There were, however, a _lot_ of them, and they weren’t going anywhere for ten weeks, so what mattered was to stop them getting bored

            Kel had inadvertently started shaping one part of an answer with her words to Harald when she had turned from burning the Scanran dead to find Stanar watching, Zerhalm and Irnai beside him. On his other side Jacut misinterpreted her surprise.

            “’E asked if ’e could watch direct like, Lady Kel, on be’alf of all our pris’ners, an’ I didn’t like to say no. I ’ope I did right.”

            “Surely, Jacut. I was kicking myself for not letting the prisoners know they’re all at liberty under their oaths again. Which includes the encampment down there. Is that likely to be a problem?”

            Stanar shrugged. “Probably, Lady Kel. We’ve always understood there’ll be hard words.”

            “Mmm. The man who went after the hostages was Stenmun Gunnarsson, Clan Somalkt, so there must be other Somalktir.” He nodded tightly. “Go with Zerhalm and Irnai, if you will, to tell those men some truths. The liegers of Rathhausak are here, and the prisoners. Tell them why, and what you have seen.”

            They went next evening, after the Tortallan funerals, and Irnai told Kel and her father what had happened. The Rathhausakers had been in a place every coerced Scanran understood, and if Loyalists were more hostile, testimony of exactly what had happened at Rathhausak from Scanrans who’d been there bore on them hard; they really didn’t like what Maggur had done, and the manner of his death left all reflective. But Stanar and his fellows were in another category, even for coerced troops and despite close, wincing attention to his account of Scything Wheat; they’d surrendered to save themselves, not withdrawn from combat, and if then oathbound had had no business giving oaths to begin with. Death before dishonour was the prevailing view—a common warrior philosophy that, as Kel’s father observed with a sigh, would if pursued to its logical conclusion divide the world into the dead and the forsworn.

            “Yes, I surrendered,” Stanar had told them, “because I was in a hopeless place and you can’t do _anything_ if you’re dead. I faced the Protector and you all found what kind of a fight _that_ means. And yes, it was dishonour, but how many stories do you know where you have to go through dishonour to win something greater? I, Stanar Petarsson, Clan Somalkt, surrendered my axe to a woman—the one who fed Maggur Reidarsson to stormwings and counts dragons as friends, to whom gods lend ears and voice. And because I did I am alive to tell you I have spoken with dragons.”

            His laugh, Irnai observed gleefully, had hit them like Lord Sakuyo’s.

            “I, of no account because clanhome and kin fell to Maggur Reidarsson’s axes, told the _Hamrkengingsaga_ in full to _wyrm_ and _draca_ , the _draca_ a kit, and for my pains was told the whole night long that everything it says of dragons is ridiculous. I have spoken to the giant spidren, and can tell you she is more interested in eating cheese than you, and would like to sell you old webbing to pack windows in winter. I have spoken with basilisks and ogres, stormwings and darkings I didn’t even know existed, and learned things that make my head spin higher than Maggur Reidarsson’s ever went. It’s been the most astonishing eight months of my life!

            “I have also come to know the Protector a little, and my world has been turned upside down many times over. I don’t need to explain. And _she_ treats me as a man of honour still, though I put hope before despair. You think I should have died. Do you think I didn’t think so too, often and long? We all did. The Protector disagrees, because she wants a better Scanra as much as any, and thinks living people who can work and change their minds are more use than dead people who can’t do either. And she’s right. If honour says otherwise it’s a watchdog’s fart—heed it and all you’ll find is stink. Yes, I who fought at the Bloody Plains, surrendered to a woman. I am no longer ashamed I did so, and whoever wants to know more can find me and all who surrendered working by the terms of our oath. There are fields to plough if we would eat, and that’s what I’ll be doing. I know why, too. Do you even know why you’re here?”

            Irnai could recite the whole thing word for word, and though she couldn’t match Stanar’s vocal range she caught his manner eloquently. The pitch had been made, and Scanran comings and goings over the next fortnight showed discussion underway. From it a more formal answer to Scanran boredom emerged: visiting the encampment herself Kel made a short speech, asking every man to consider what he believed should happen to end the war as justly as possible, so there should be no cause for another—answers in as few words as possible, to be copied for every person who’d sit round a table discussing their children’s and grandchildren’s lives. In a move that had Raoul slapping his thigh—was there no end on it?—she asked everyone at New Hope to do the same, and at dinner that evening the King opened discussion by saying that depleted as his treasury was and wholly at fault as Maggur had been he didn’t believe it practical to seek reparations, but personally found the idea of a fifty-foot wall along the entire border very attractive.

            “Walls are splendid things, sire, I agree. I’m very grateful to the ones around us, and have fond memories of the Palace enclosure, as my Lord of Cavall can tell you. But where will you get the bricks and mortar?”

            “Now that’s an excellent question, my Lady. One reason good walls are so hard to come by.”

            “And good walls do so many things, sire. Hold up kingdoms. Protect those we’re sworn to protect. And cast long shadows where nothing grows and it’s always damp.”

            Alanna later told Kel, cackling, that the look on Jon’s face had been beyond rubies, but what mattered to Kel was the effect on her people. Jonathan had elected to stay and must expect to have his ears bent, sometimes out of shape. Discussion groups developed, with a strong propensity to try to collar anyone who might have another view to consider, and the King was as prime a target as Kel herself. To be fair he took it in good part, explaining honestly why he thought some things impossible, looking dubious at others, and above all listening to what people were saying.

            It wasn’t all high politics. Everyone wanted to give Kel and Dom a wedding present, and bubbling discussion groups made possible rapid consensus that a collective gift would solve many problems, and a proper house was the obvious need. There was ashlar, basilisks could excavate cellarage, providing scree to reshape, and the triangular space between the last barrack and the path to the cave, now free of coffins, would do nicely. A red-faced Kel protested but found herself peppered with impertinent questions. Did she hope to emulate her mother’s fecundity? How many children had each of her sisters had? Who would be part of her household besides Dom and Tobe? Would a dozen guest rooms suffice? And did she intend to combine the administrative heart of her fief with her family dwelling? Nor were Dom and Tobe exempt—what did their idea of a perfect house look like? Kel managed to delay things for all of three hours by saying she’d hoped to use any new structure as an example of Geraint’s basilisk-ogre-mage architecture, but Vanget, confronted by a delegation, caved in and Geraint was summoned. 

            Fuming, Kel gave up—except she couldn’t if she didn’t want to live in something she disliked, so taking many deep breaths she left Dom and Tobe to talk to the eager would-be builders and steadfastly ignored the absurdly large hole that began to be excavated beyond the last barrack, other than to drag people away from it when necessary for things that actually mattered. Chief among them was ploughing: with the mild season and early winter harvest Adner had an unarguable case, but besides nearly three thousand Scanrans camped in the valley, where further visitors—expected by the horde—were to be put was a real quandary. It wasn’t as if Adner could leave good land fallow in case it was needed for tents, and while Kel was in principle willing to make visitors camp beyond the cultivated areas that would now put them three miles or more from New Hope, which in practice wouldn’t be such a good idea. Food could be dealt with—wagon trains had already arrived and more were scheduled—but rooms were a stubborner problem.

            The visiting companies weren’t going anywhere until the Scanrans left and Kel dissuaded Vanget only with difficulty from bringing the troops from the eastern border, who had finally managed to arrive. Some had been sent back, but there _were_ extra companies billeted at Giantkiller and Mastiff, with more in Riversedge and Bearsford, so that while those in the valley remained outnumbered three-to-one, parity was available within a day’s march. Kel was herself unconcerned but couldn’t deny facts, and Harald Svensson accepted that in Vanget’s shoes he’d be reinforcing as fast as he could, so keeping extra troops out of the valley itself, on logistical grounds, was as much as she could manage. To her surprise the King was supportive, acknowledging Vanget’s concern but going with an escort of the Own to visit the encampment and gauge Scanran temper for himself—intensely curious and stoical in the face of frequent rain making life unpleasantly muddy and damp.

            Kel winced and went to consult Numair and Harailt, who with Alanna’s help managed to cobble together rain shields powered by black opals that didn’t cover the whole camp and caused problems where water poured from their edges, but with some rearrangement kept most Scanrans dry _and_ provided water butts that didn’t have to be filled from New Hope’s spring or the Greenwoods. They made the mages very popular, and Harailt and Alanna took to spending time with the Scanrans—Harailt indulging his scholarship with men who knew old sagas, while Alanna wanted to discuss swordplay and exercise her healing arm, solemnly applying to Kel for permission to take weapons with her.

            Laughing, Kel was struck by a thought and promptly deputed Alanna to organise weaponwork competitions. Spinning from the whole cloth she specified, as well as individual disciplines, a combination event to produce a champion judged on versatility. Intrigued, Alanna recruited Raoul and went to see Harald, and within a day Adner was cursing even more because the practice areas soldiers were now using between the encampment and New Hope took yet more land out of commission. Kel let him extend cultivation further south to compensate, but that worsened the problems there’d be with new arrivals, and at her wits’ end she found herself seriously wondering whether she should build more hoists—if she could get rope from Mindelan—and stick everyone on top of the cliffs. Downslope towards the abatis the wind wasn’t too bad, but when she imagined trying to lodge her grandmother Seabeth-and-Seajen four hundred feet up a rockface she thought she’d really rather not. Still, she’d rather that than have the caves too crowded, and the green _couldn’t_ be used because it would be needed for spectators when the shrines were the focus.

            A better answer first came in the form of Barzha, who returned fifteen days after Maggur’s fall. Kel didn’t ask where the Stone Tree Nation had been but Barzha was happy to tell, reporting that Maggur’s head had plummeted from great height into the burned shell of Rathhausak, and they’d been gone so long because the energy absorbed from the battle and what Kel had asked of them left them so charged up that flying fast and far was the only relief.

            “Rathhausak was a waypoint, Protector—I think we were in Galla before we stopped and we found all sorts of interesting things to do. It’s always entertaining to bear news, and you’ve sent a shock along this border even the Vassa felt.”

            “Hardly on my own. You didn’t happen to see those giants, did you?”

            “Heading up the Smiskir, grumbling. Why?”

            “Oh, just wondering where they’d gone.”

            “Back to the Icefalls by now, I should think. “

            “Is that where they live?”

            “Mostly.”

            “Doing what?”

            “Fighting. Eating goats when they can catch them.” She smiled. “Would you save them too, Protector? Giants are dim and quarrelsome at the best of times.”

            “So I hear. But those particular ones … tell me, would I be right to think they _weren’t_ Chaos-touched and those who died were?”

            “You _are_ a clever Protector. I think so, as does Quenuresh, but sunbird fire leaves no trace so we can’t be sure. Does it matter?”

            “It struck me those coerced giants were smarter—they helped assemble the trebuchet and worked together to bridge pits. Was that all Gissa? Or had she selected the cleverest she could find, and if so do they _want_ to go back to a life of regular fighting and occasional goats?”

            “What would they do otherwise?”

            “Heavy lifting? Fix rooves and paint ceilings?” Barzha cackled and Kel grinned. “Yes, I know, but the point is that _if_ they’re willing to give up fighting and exchange fair labour for regular goats, they’ll be welcome. You might spread word.”

            “I might at that. You’re very touching, you know. And not wrong— that lot were brighter than most so they might be able to work it out. But you’re not going to be short of immortals, and none of us like giants—they grow big, not up.”

            “What do you mean, not short of immortals? Your Majesty?”

            Barzha cackled again. “You do polite menace exceptionally well, Protector. But it’s nothing I’ve done—just beings responding to your invitation whose travel has been delayed.”

            “Does that mean sat it out until the result was clear?”

            “Such a suspicious streak you have. Not really. Safe travel for groundpounders hereabouts hasn’t been easy.”

            That was true. “So who’s coming?”

            “More of the same, mostly—basilisks and ogres. There’s a few tree- and watersprites but I doubt you’ll see them unless they say hello. And _you_ might understand if I tell you _kudarung_ are on the move too.”

            The winged horses had willingly acted as steeds and messengers for the old _raka_ queens, so Kel did understand. But basilisks and ogres now … “How many basilisks? And farming or mining ogres?”

            The answers made Kel’s eyebrows very mobile, and by the time no less than twenty-two basilisks and almost a hundred ogres, mostly miners, showed up two days later she had a plan. All the immortals had been travelling in smaller groups but found themselves clumped on the edge of the combat zone when Maggur’s troops crossed the Vassa, and were very conscious they were arriving in the aftermath of bitter strife and loss. Kel waved that aside and settled to plain questions about what they all wanted—a familiar tale—and what she could offer given present circumstances. She had Geraint with her, with sketches, as well as representatives of the resident immortals, and once she’d laid out what she was asking and offering she and Geraint left them to discuss it.

            “It’s a massive project, Lady Kel. Even with all those immortals I’m not sure it can be done in time, nor anywhere near.”

            “Have you figured in Scanran labour? Thirty basilisks cutting, three thousand Scanrans hauling stone, and a hundred ogres finishing up? Anyway, it doesn’t need to be completed—just far enough along that there are several hundred usable rooms. I think the bottleneck will be the woodshops and smithy for doors and hinges.”

            He did swift calculations in his notebook. “If you can really get the Scanrans hauling stone, Lady Kel, you might be right.”

            “Get them working with basilisks, Geraint? I could charge for the privilege. The competition is keeping them amused but not really busy, and I’ll be happier if they’re going to bed tired from honest labour. I just hope these basilisks and ogres don’t mind singing for their supper before they’re served it.”

            They didn’t, and much began to happen. That many beings couldn’t be quartered in Immortals’ Row and the whole problem was restriction to structures within the walls anyway, unnecessary in peacetime. So the target was the cliffs south of New Hope: there would be a basilisk-and-ogre house, with rooms in proportion, and smaller apartments for guests and subsequently new population; for every basilisk or ogre working on dwellings for themselves another worked on spaces for mortals. The part of Kel with warm feelings for Orchan of Eridui insisted ground-floor windows have solid rock bars, but in limestone cutting stairs and setting about first-floor rooms was no problem for basilisks. The Scanrans listened as she outlined what was happening, asked disbelieving questions, and promised they’d look in the morning. When stone blocks began popping from the rock faster than any of them had ever seen, and ogres handed them to the nearest Scanrans with a smile and directions to stack them on the far side of the fields, they began carrying without demur. Within a day they’d adjusted routines to accommodate stints cheerfully hauling stone and talking to whichever basilisks were resting, and even Geraint admitted her insane schedule might be met. Real crowds wouldn’t arrive for a month but a first wave from Corus would wash in before the end of the week, and from what Kel gathered of reactions to news of Maggur’s last defeat—not to mention vacant fiefs—a tide of people wanting the King’s ear was to be expected.

            The day after the new immortals arrived he found her in the Eyrie, surveying openings beginning to punctuate limestone, and politely asked what was happening. She explained four objectives were being met—temporary mortal and permanent immortal quarters, a symbolic declaration of peace, and keeping three thousand Scanrans amused—and his smile was dazzling.

            “Very good indeed, Keladry. When did you know these new basilisks and ogres were coming?”

            “Two, no three days ago, sire. Queen Barzha had seen them.”

            He shook his head admiringly. “You thought this up in a day?”

            “I’ve been worrying about accommodation for weeks and wondering about trying to cut enough rooms, but it wouldn’t have been fair to our basilisks. Twenty more was a godsend and I’m taking advantage.”

            “You underestimate yourself, Keladry. As I continue to do. It’s a habit I must break but you do make that very difficult, you know. And I haven’t even thanked you for winning this war, I won’t say single-handed because it would annoy you, not wrongly, but even so—no-one has done anything resembling what you’ve achieved, and no other killed Maggur.”

            “That was Queen Barzha, sire, not me.”

            “Oh stop the vocatives, will you? Yes it was Barzha and I think I understand why that matters, but no, it was you. The elemental set you off and you’ve been like a charging warhorse ever since. Gods know I’m not complaining but it hasn’t been easy dealing with the consequences. And what I’m to do with the vacant fiefs is a nightmare. Every possible collateral line is screaming claims, and all of the local administrations are probably as ghastly as Torhelm’s was.”

            “Warison.”

            “What?”

            “Warison. The nobility needs fresh blood. Rule out all collateral lines by fiat under the provision for high treason against your person and award those fiefs to soldiers who really won this war for you and have the temperament and skill to lead _people_. It’s right, it’ll be good for fiefs and liegers, and it’ll give the Council of Nobles more people who actually know something about the north. Their presence among nobles will ease relations with the Army Council, and you’ll be able to count on them to help tell nobles what you can and can’t expect an army to do.”

            “Gods, Keladry.” He laughed. “I’d forgotten, again, what advice from you is like. It’s a marvellous idea, but oh the howling at such innovation.”

            “Not so—my Lord of Trebond’s your precedent if you need one. Most of King Jasson’s creations were military and how did anyone get into the Book of Gold anyway? It was generals who shared out the Thanic Empire and commanders who became nobility in new kingdoms.”

            “So it was, and Trebond’s a point. Everyone thought Alanna was cracked but Coram and Rispah have done an enormous amount for that fief. Warison, eh? Well, there’s some more warison we need to talk about, Keladry. How much of what we can see is going to be New Hope? And should you be invested before or after the treaty signing, your handfasting, or your wedding? Ha! It’s good to see you for once looking as flummoxed as I usually feel dealing with you. But we do need answers. Come and see me tomorrow morning, please. We’ve been dancing around this too long. Alanna’s become unbearable, and Thayet will be very cross if she gets here and finds I still haven’t sorted it out. So will Roald and Shinko, and that’ll be bad for my good humour. So come and face the fanfare. You never know, you might even be pleased.”

 

* * * * *

 

Kel knew perfectly well she’d been contradictory about the issue, and if it was partly just the oddity of transition from stigmatised squire to commander and putative Baroness in less than three years, it was also wanting to hide from accepting a lifetime responsibility for the centre of Tortall’s northern border; or anywhere else. More than one lifetime too. Charging warhorse? Runaway, more like, and if Jonathan didn’t like chasing after, what did he suppose the rider was feeling? But another part of her was eager for it; she had no choice anyway, and additional responsibilities she hadn’t begun to understand until recently. Enough was enough—if you were to rule a fief and had a say in where its boundaries would lie, you didn’t squander it.

            She spent the evening with Dom. An earlier meeting with Turomot had informed them that while Dom would become Tobe’s legal father, whether he became a baron would depend on the terms on the barony, and that Kel’s title could be heritable through the female line or the male. Dom had no desire to be a baron though he was willing to bow to necessity, but about boundaries he had clear ideas extending to the silver mines in the Brown River valley and the Great North Road. A fief needed income, a northern fief especially, and good as the Guild was the majority of its profits would go to individuals, not New Hope. There were Spidren Wood and Aldoven’s valley and Whitelist’s centaurs to consider, ogre mining and farming, Adner’s ambitions, and the scope of hunting game. It all added up to a vastly bigger fief than New Hope was a military command, and Kel took her nervousness about trying to ask for it to bed with Dom, who didn’t mind her asking at all.

            Jonathan had taken over one of the guest rooms in the caves, which left his guards happier, but he’d asked to meet Kel in the messhall, ostensibly because the tables would be useful for maps. Kel suspected he had other motives and when she found him contemplating the panels her heart sank a little, though there _were_ maps spread out. To her surprise her father was there, and Jonathan looked up as she entered.

            “Ah, Keladry. I asked your father to attend because you’re not yet of age—Turomot pointed that out and I’m still bemused—and your ennoblement inevitably intersects with the duchy of Mindelan. But before we get down to it there’s something else. Even without godlight these panels are very good—unusual style and simple in their way, but beautifully clear and effective. The carvers were among your people?”

            “Yes.” Kel was cautious. “Civilian and military. It was the first flush of excitement about petrification really.”

            “Well, I want to commission them. The tale here is the creation of New Hope, but there’s another tale now, of its survival and triumphant establishment as a fief. And coming down from the Eyrie yesterday I couldn’t help noticing the inside wall of the steps—yards and yards of smooth rock. So—a series of ascending panels. I’ll make the announcement tonight, with your consent.”

            Kel sat down hard. One of those carvers had died, but snapping at Jonathan would be neither gracious or helpful and in her embarrassment she had a thought that might be both.

            “Thank you, I suppose.” He grinned. “I hope they’ll include the Scanrans’ point-of-view, though, and there’s at least one man among the coerced who’s a mean whittler, Tobe tells me. Perhaps he can carve too. Gods know how they’ll sort out who does what panel but it would be good if the intent was, um, truthful rather than overly triumphant.”

            Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, with admiration rather than dissent. “Astonishing. I’ll slant it that way. Can basilisks petrify plaster?”

            “I’d think so. Why?”

            “Duplicate panels—these and the new ones. Make a mould and cast in plaster. Petrify. I’ll have them up in Corus before you can say boo.”

            Kel sighed. In for a groat, in for a bushel, and Lalasa would be thrilled. “Use water—Numair can hold it to the panel and the basilisks can render it as icelight. Contour will reverse but it should work.”

            “Gods, what a thought. Colour?”

            “Ask Numair, but water’s easy to dye.”

            “True.” He grinned again. “I’ll have New Hope shining in Corus more literally than I’d hoped. But now, boundaries. Come and look at the map. It’s an exercise in logic, really.”

            They went to the table where maps in different scales showed the whole of Tortall, the north, frontier, army district, and—obviously new and compiled from the Eyrie—the Greenwoods and parallel valleys between the Brown, Great North Road, and Vassa. Kel’s father said nothing as the King began to point.

            “The minimum starting point is plainly the Greenwoods valley from Great North to Frasrlund roads and that’s a goodly fief. Anywhere else there’d be no problem, but the treaty grant to Aldoven includes the blind valley to the east and Whitelist’s centaurs and herds range beyond the Great North Road and into the western valleys. I’m not disturbing those treaties, so we have to expand—and that brings us to the silver mines at Tirrsmont. When the fief was disbanded they came into royal administration and there are people who want them to stay there—if they can’t have them themselves. It’s tempting. Money’s always welcome. But.” His finger shifted to the maps of the district and frontier. “What do I want of New Hope? A strong, prosperous fief, holding the middle border, and for all you’ve the Guild you’ve nothing else but agriculture. I could take the mines and face your constant need or simplify everything and make them New Hope’s. And if I do, in effect the old Tirrsmont landgrant comes with them.”

            Kel’s mind whirred. Asking for more was apparently not a problem. “What about Riversedge?”

            “Remains an independent settlement, but it’ll be surrounded by your territory. Haryse and Disart talked to them last week and they’re fine with it—delighted, Haryse says. They didn’t like Tirrsmont at all but very much hope the land will be resettled.”

            “There’s good soil there, so certainly, as numbers allow. And I’d think many refugees will be happy to go home, if they’re still under New Hope administration.”

            “Good. And with the way you’ve set up your own council you’re already in a position to deal with multiple settlements across the fief. So we come to Anak’s Eyrie. I’m very sorry about Sir Tyrral—a good man who tried—but the facts are he’s dead, left no heir, and oddly enough there are no claimants for a sacked fief hard on the border. If there were I’d take them seriously, and I’ve no doubt with news of peace there’ll be a dozen shortly, who can rot. Sir Tyrral’s surviving people want you as well as wanting to go home, so that landgrant comes in too. And that means your eastern border’s not the Brown River either, but extends as far as South Bend waypoint on the Northwatch road.”

            Kel swallowed. “That’s more than sixty miles from here.” Outside haMinchi land she could think of maybe five fiefs that big, and all were south-central, where plains and rolling downs encouraged size.

            “Yes it is. Now, further south the Brown River is a natural boundary until we come to Bearsford and the Great North Road. You’re only ten miles from the road here and I want New Hope astride it. It’s all unclaimed, like so much of the north—there’s the old fort at Steadfast and the new one at Mastiff, but nothing else this side of the Grimholds. And the garrison at Mastiff will come right down, so …”

            His finger traced a line a little north of west from Bearsford to the Vassa east of Steadfast and Kel swallowed again. That was more than seventy miles in the other direction and the area the King was suggesting was … close to two-and-a-half-thousand square miles. Only Conté and haMinchi lands were greater.

            “You’re serious?”

            “Entirely. Work it out.”

            She already had. “You’re building your wall deep rather than high. And you want another northern counterweight to the south.”

            “I am and I do.”

            “What does Lord Ferghal say?”

            “Good question. I’ve spoken to him by spellmirror, and so’s Vanget. He was surprised but not unhappy, and looks forward to meeting you.”

            The haMinchi forces had reached Northwatch in time to see Scanrans withdraw, and as the irregular cavalry raiding further east had also withdrawn most were there still. Lord Ferghal had been summoned for Beltane and no proxies would be required for _that_ Council session.

            “Do you accept.”

            Deep breath. “Of course I do, sire. And I’ll counterweight the south as much as you like. But the border … I don’t know. It’s not enough.” She glanced up at his muffled sound and shook her head. “Not the fief—that’s enormous. I mean the border, the treaty. And what you want doing with the Great North Road. You’re giving me a hundred miles of the Frasrlund road, and there’s the junction bang in the middle of it. The problem is it’s a T not a crossroads.”

            “Nothing I can do about that, Keladry, but if you’re happy with those borders we come to the next thing, which is your rank.”

            “Rank?”

            “Do I want a Baroness ruling the largest single landgrant in Tortall, while His Grace of Mindelan hasn’t a quarter of that area?”

            “His Grace isn’t complaining, sire, and didn’t win you a war.”

            “Even so, Piers. And you did win a peace—that’s the whole point. No Yamani wars, no Carthaki wars, and with any luck no more Scanran wars for a good while. In any case, Keladry, I’ve decided two things. There’s been a Mindelan extension grant being prepared since the promotion but I’m going to add to it, with Ennor’s consent and Seabeth-and-Seajen’s, so your father’s borders will meet yours south of Steadfast, just. And as it would be absurd under these circumstances to make you a Baroness, you’ll be Countess of New Hope.”

            Kel’s eyes hurt because they were trying to widen and narrow at the same time. Reluctant to think about ennoblement at all she’d never even  considered higher ranks, nor that the King might decide to create a Mindelan block to match the haMinchi one that ran from Northwatch to the Berint. And everything she thought she’d learned from Turomot about nobility and marriage was moot because she hadn’t a clue how a countship—countessship had too many esses—might differ from a barony. Baronessy was stupid too. Her father sat forward.

            “My dear, I’m aware of your conversation with Turomot, and he’s apologetic he couldn’t steer you to the right questions. He says the differences are mostly ceremonial but you do have some choices. If you wed Domitan before you are created, he will become Count-Consort when you are. If you wed him as Countess of New Hope he will become Count. Inheritance might still run in either the male or female line, at His Majesty’s discretion in the terms of the grant. There’s only one precedent Turomot can think of, centuries ago, when a deputy’s widow was created heir to a barony after a rather brutal siege killed the ruling family—and she had only a son so she chose male inheritance.”

            Kel knew about that one, the only grant to a woman in the Book of Gold and now a thoroughly conservative fief. But her eyes still hurt.

            “Alright, Papa. I’ll have to talk to Dom about the before and after thing, and I want to know what the legal differences are for counts and count-consorts, but we choose the female line. It’ll be easier for Tobe, and no offence but there are enough inheriting lordlings already.” The King—no, Jonathan—smiled, and she knew he wouldn’t fight that; Alanna would beat him with a staff. “Will a future Countess have the same choice—marry a count-consort before inheriting or a count after?”

            “Probably, my dear, but Turomot was unsure. It may not be resolved until it has to be.”

            “Oh yes it will—it goes in the grant. I’m not having a daughter or granddaughter faced with that kind of nonsense. There’s no precedent worth a groat anyway so you can rule on it by fiat, sire.”

            “And what should I rule?”

            “Same rights as a man—to whom this wouldn’t apply.”

            “Not quite true—there are cases where timing of marriage and inheritance has been critical, but I take the point. Your son-in-law when you have one will become a count, regardless.” A king blew out a breath. “There’ll be squawking but you’re right about precedent and Turomot will agree to clarity, so they can lump it. And female descent for female creations was the rule in the Thanic Empire, which had quite a few of them, so they can lump that too. Talk to your Domitan, but my sense is that I should create you Countess at Beltane, with the treaty signing.”

            “Why?”

            “Symbolism and practicality—most of the Council’s here and the rest will be soon, as well as half Corus and the gods know who else. Believe me, you don’t want the issue hanging around afterwards for people to get over their shock and start thinking of objections.”

            That made sense, and she’d rather Dom was beside her, not a step behind. “I still need to talk to Dom, but if he’s happy with it, alright.” What _was_ she agreeing to? “Is it like the ceremony for Papa and Mama?”

            “Not quite—more of it, I’m afraid, as you’ll be a new creation. And there will be some, um, history to rehearse. You’re looking very grim.”

            “I expect I am. Tell me, sire, have you sent for Master Oakbridge?”

            “Gods, no. Do you want me to?”

            “I think you’d better. On Beltane we’ll have—should have—a treaty to sign, a handfasting, and now a creation. The treaty will be signed in the field, because we couldn’t get all the Scanrans in here even if we wanted, but it’d be fair rude not to invite their signatories to the feast. Whenever it is, because there’s everything else to do, which is certainly happening at the shrines.”

            “Yes, we’ll be busy. Why Oakbridge, though?”

            “Do you want to tell me whether Lady Yukimi comes before or after some Scanran aide, Anders as my eldest brother and Papa’s heir, the Councillors, and oh, Quenuresh or Var’istaan as treaty-signing members of my council? And by the way, Papa, do you know if His Imperial Majesty intends to send a delegation? Oakbridge’ll need to know and should bone up on the fact that most New Hopers are Sakuyo’s Blessed, because the fact that almost all are commoners will matter less to any Yamani than he’d think. Then there’s _blódbeallár_. _And_ the claims of kin for a handfasting—what precedence will grandma Seabeth-and-Seajen have over Fanche as a member of my Countess’s Council? Or Kuriaju? I couldn’t care less but I’m bothered if _I’m_ telling her she ranks below an ogre and a widowed miller’s wife.”

            There was silence until Jonathan drew a shuddering breath.  “Oakbridge it is, and his entire staff. With a couple of Turomot’s brightest clerks. Good call, Keladry.” He frowned. “Piers tells me you want the pages?”

            “I do. Padraig ought to be here, and there are plenty of people to act as examiners—Wyldon can chair, with the most conservative knights among the visitors. Big tests at once, to put them out of their misery, then run them off their feet fetching and carrying. We’ll need everyone we can draft.”

            “Makes sense. There’ll be squires too—not all, but many—and Thayet’s bringing a fair number of Palace staff. It’s going to be worse than the blessed Progress, which I’d have sworn wasn’t possible.” He shook his head. “Oh well. Funfunfun, as Shale would tell me. You wanted Kawit too.”

            His voice had become more serious and she matched him, nodding.

            “Oh yes. You’re worrying about how your lords will take the idea of an immortal as moderator. Don’t. Think about the _effect_ , not so much on those lords, though it’ll do them no harm, but on Scanrans. I chose a _draca_ as Quenuresh’s illusion for a reason, and though Kawit is _wyrm_ she’s going to bring them to a dead halt. No rhetorical axe-waving. Shocked attention. And no lies, because the griffins will be there too.”

            She looked at the great swathe of land that would become New Hope, with the shining Vassa along miles of _her_ border—to hold fast, somehow, so no Scanran raiding party or army ever crossed it again. The maps didn’t show Scanra in any detail, and that was what was missing from all this heaping of riches and coals on her aching head.

            “So yes, Kawit as moderator, if she will. And I think she will.” The dragons had an interest of some kind besides her proposed place of embassy, though Kel wasn’t sure what. “She’ll also know if we go off track and do something the gods won’t accept. Which would include continued hostility from Scanrans, so it’ll serve us well.”

            “Yes, alright. I did ask her about a position, as you suggested, and she said she’d consider it, but thought a different arrangement might be better. Perhaps this is what she meant.”

            Kel nodded absently. “I wouldn’t be surprised—older immortals sense the timeway more clearly and by Midwinter she might’ve been able to see possibilities beyond the roil. I’m sure Diamondflame could, though he wasn’t saying and couldn’t know which would actually come to pass.” Her mind was on Scanra and Jonathan’s huffing laugh surprised her.

            “Gods, Keladry. With mortals I’m beginning to think only the young can do that. Just what _do_ we still have in store? Do you know?”

            She blinked. “No, of course not. I can’t see it at all and I’ve no idea what _it_ wants—only that it has a sense of repetition, or harmony maybe, that I find heavily ironic and Lord Sakuyo finds hysterical.”

            There was another silence and Jonathan shook his head. “I should have stopped while I was ahead. If you understood that, Piers, please tell me—later. A lot later. Just now I need some lunch.”

 

* * * * *

 

Over the next month people began to arrive, the southern cliffs acquired doors and windows gleaming at night, and the competitions reached entertaining conclusions with champions happily shared between armies and companies. The Scanrans were still cheerfully carrying stone and wondering if basilisks could be begged, stolen, or borrowed to do things to cliff faces they knew; Kel sent Idrius to discuss Guild terms and concessions, and as the chiefsmen present were senior in their clans a number of contracts were actually drawn up, though no-one was prepared to sign anything yet. All the same, it was a sign of the goodwill prevailing, competition and joint hunting parties having created a degree of military camaraderie while circulation through New Hope to visit prisoners and Rathhausakers and see the sights brought civilians into it. According to Fanche there was even a budding romance but Kel wasn’t going to deal with that before she had to.

            The King’s commission for panels to tell New Hope’s story had also worked well, much as Kel didn’t care to think about it. Coupled with news of her proposed rank and confirmation that Tirrsmont and Anak’s Eyrie would lie within her boundaries, Jonathan for the first time won her people’s genuine approval. He’d needed Lady Kel to kick him into action, but hadn’t they all? She was bemused by the logic, but quiet pleas to the carvers led to conversations with coerced chiefsmen who knew the Scanran tale of the last two years and had seen the final assault. Loyalists were also willing to speak—there was no shame in narrating experience and already some pride as survivors of the bloodiest day in border history since Jasson’s reign. And after the messhall panels and sketches the carvers made had been considered it was agreed there would be at least one Scanran panel. Discussion of how to parse the story into panels was ongoing, though some had been decided and starts made, and Kel reluctantly answered questions about the tauros attack and meeting the Black God. Quite how they were going to deal with her rape she left to them, not even needing a minatory glance to ensure that they’d be very careful indeed, but for reasons she only half understood she told them the Hag and her hyena had been present, and sent them to Numair for a first-hand description. She also insisted the Black God and Lord Gainel attend Rogal’s death, if they chose to represent it, as Lord Sakuyo and a sunbird should attend the burning of the trebuchet. The last meant Ebony had to show them what a sunbird looked like, and she was able to shuffle them out while they were still blinking.

            Even with all that Kel was glad of early arrivals, for herself and because they helped entertain Scanrans after the competition ended. Thayet, Roald, and Shinko had left Corus with what for royals amounted to lightning speed, despite Shinko’s confirmed pregnancy—anxious for so long, report of Maggur’s death and a _blódbeallár_ truce had set them into as excited a spin as it had Corus at large; news of the King’s decision to stay at New Hope and of Kel’s handfasting had them on the road within two days. Queen’s Riders escorted them and Kel sent Mikal’s company to meet them at Bearsford.

            They came in style, befitting a Queen and Crown couple of Tortall mindful of to whom they were on show. Kel’s opinion of pomp and circumstance hadn’t improved but she understood the value of display and soldiers lined the roadway from stonebridge to moatbridge as the head of the long column came past the fin. Mikal’s men peeled aside to let royalty mount the roadway first. Roald and Shinko were old New Hope hands, and with repairs completed there was nothing new for them to see north of the fin except the Scanran encampment, but to Thayet, leading, all was new and measured glances around as she climbed, with a longer stare at Pizzle and his fellows, did not conceal wide eyes. Kel wasn’t sure if it was protocol or symbolism, but she stood foremost to greet her queen and in effect restore her husband to her by standing aside. Their white-knuckled handclasp and polite embrace were an object lesson in royal control, and there was a fair amount for them to endure before they could be left alone, as they undoubtedly wanted.

            Thayet needed no coaching to make a declaration under the Honesty Gate, but the welcoming party beyond made her blink before she smiled. In the proper nature of things guests didn’t greet guests, so New Hope’s council, including the immortals, took precedence in their own domain over the King’s Council, and Councillors found themselves flanking Harald Svensson and senior chiefsmen, hair and beards braided and turned out in the best dress they could muster with help from New Hope’s laundry and seamstresses. They were all thoroughly self-conscious, unused to Quenuresh and discommoded by Junior, who had come to investigate and inserted himself into the bustle, but Kel saw their stares at Thayet and Shinko and smiled to herself. All were great warriors, no doubt, but Thayet wasn’t the Peerless for nothing and Shinko could leave any man dreaming; it wasn’t a capacity Kel had but she’d seen its potency in women who did—endlessly, with the string of beauties Neal had pined for—and Thayet and Shinko made the Scanrans desire their notice, to see them smile, before either had spoken a word.

            Complementary notes were struck by Yuki’s formal greeting to Shinko, Numair’s emotional welcome of Daine, and Daine’s explanation to Kel that Kawit and Kitten would come nearer the time. Harald overheard, and Kel’s confirmation that the _wyrm_ and young _draca_ Stanar had met were returning sent a ripple through the Scanrans that boded well. Ruthlessly following up, she introduced Daine as the Godborn before getting her to interpret a conversation with Junior in which she thanked him again for all he’d done, asked him to relay to his parents news of the negotiations and her request for their presence, and learned they approved the swiftness with which she’d used sunbird- and dragonfire to restore order. The Scanrans’ sight of full communication with an unspeaking immortal was another shock to their systems.

            Kel had intended to give Thayet the tour but seeing how she and Jonathan—not the King—looked at one another she wavered, and when she saw Lalasa and Tomas among the entourage smoothly suggested Queen and Crown couple must need to rest after their journey. The amused gratitude in Thayet’s and Jonathan’s eyes signalled agreement and she deputed a surprised Brodhelm—mobile but limping—to show the royals to their rooms. Before they’d left, trailing a gaggle of Councillors, she extracted Lalasa and Tomas from the mob trailing though the barbican and whirled them off for tea.

            She’d sent Lalasa a letter concerning a wedding dress that had met her on the road, thanks to the quick wit of a courier who’d thought to check who was in the vast party and wound up carrying a variety of extra notes when he went on his way. What sounded like warehouses of material and all the Protector’s Maids would be following, and a dress to outshine stars was promised, but what had set Lalasa on the road had been news of Maggur’s death at—as the tales already had it—Kel’s own hand. She’d heard the proclamation, run to the Palace to learn more, met Shinko hopping about in what sounded a very un-Yamani manner to be ascribed to joyful relief, and agreed to leave for New Hope at the drop of a royal hat. Listening, Kel decided she’d be avoiding Corus for years but Lalasa’s sheer joy at war’s end and Kel’s survival—which she seemed not to have expected—was infectious. From that first morning after the battle when Kel had awoken with tingling knowledge of peace part of her had been rejoicing but black memories with the work of repair and writing to the kin of the dead had subdued it; now it was released by a friend’s joy and her tongue was loosed. Lalasa more than anyone knew what her terror of heights had been and what going out on the fin had meant; happy marriage after abused youth made her sensitive to the path Kel had trodden since her rape; and ennoblement was for her so sweet an icing on the cake it was very hard not to laugh with her. Kel’s happiness was complete when Dom came by to find out where she’d disappeared to. He was supposed to extricate her but instead stayed, catching up with Lalasa and making Tomas’s acquaintance. Kel realised she and Dom were for the first time acting as a couple, entertaining friends, and was moved almost to tears at such a simple thing, so often experienced as a guest and so long thought another mystery for ever beyond her grasp.

            When she did surrender to duty and left Dom to see Lalasa and Tomas to the best guest room she could wrangle, in the corral headquarters, Kel was unapologetic about having kept people waiting and saw approval in Shinko’s eyes.

            “Keladry- _sensei_ , my esteemed mother-in-law is resting.” Her eyes twinkled and Kel didn’t think Thayet was getting much sleep. “Roald and I wondered if you might show us the building-work and Lord Harald invites us to see the encampment of his soldiers.”

            Kel wasn’t sure about Shinko’s award of a Tortallan title to a senior chiefsman or the protocol of visiting the Scanran camp, but dealt swiftly with other queries, swept up Councillors at a loose end, and set about making the most of it. Many Scanrans had gone back to stone-hauling after the excitement and were as surprised as flattered to find themselves meeting Tortallan royalty and a Yamani princess; by the time the party reached the camp they were on something as close to parade as was possible. Kel had snagged a squad of Uinse’s men as escort, but the look on Nond’s face when he realised he was the senior Councillor escorting the Crown couple into the middle of three thousand Scanrans was one to behold. Yet all was well—very well, in fact, for Roald’s Scanran was respectable and however he’d been prevented from fighting himself knew what the war had been like, while Shinko had made her usual effort with a language and could hold up a conversation. They charmed and impressed all they spoke to, said right things, and managed with Kel beside them to project the unwavering strength of Tortall in meeting any challenge as well as its present willingness to deal. On their way back Kel explained that to Nond, thanking him for deft help with the exercise, and left him beaming confusion, to Roald’s amusement.

            “You’ve got the Council dancing, Kel. It’s very impressive.”

            “Yes, well. They hadn’t been in combat for a long time, if ever. It has a sobering effect.” Not to mention what they’d seen her do, but Runnerspring, sent to Corus, was best unmentioned.

            “I imagine. Was it very bad?”

            “We buried more than two hundred and burned ten times that.”

            “Gods, that many? I gathered the traitors were all dead but father wasn’t very forthcoming about how, or the rest of it.”

            “Ask others please, Roald? It’s not something I want to talk about.”

            “Alright, Kel—so long as you know how grateful I am. We both are. The trials of Torhelm and Runnerspring as well as all those people from Genlith are going to be grim, so I can’t say I’m sorry the traitors who took up arms died, but I _am_ sorry it fell to you.”

            That was a long speech for Roald and Kel wasn’t unappreciative, laying a hand on his arm; she just didn’t want to rehearse slaughtering men by the thousand when she was managing to feel cheerful. The Black God took a lot of weight but couldn’t take the burden away, nor should he; her hands had snapped mageblasts and dragonscale, and the irony of receiving a title and lands for becoming the greatest killer alive was never lost on her—as a woman and before she was of age, if further obscene absurdities were needed. If it hadn’t been for Dom and the warmth he offered so unstintingly when blood swam around her she’d have been screaming days ago; but he helped more than she’d thought possible, and quiet remarks by Wyldon told her he guessed at her inner torment—fading, as it had to if she was to survive, and cushioned by the god, but pulsing yet.

            “Don’t worry about it, Roald, but … go carefully? It’s clean now but this roadway was an abattoir. We’re coping, and we’ll go on coping, but everyone’s reeling still.” She met his eyes. “And please visit Seaver’s grave at Haven? Quinden and Garvey have none.”

            She wasn’t going to say more about having killed three of those who’d been pages with her—four, counting Joren—and buried two more, but the grasp of his hand told her he understood. She wasn’t sure how she felt about those deaths, and a conversation with Neal was overdue, but Roald’s acceptance of the havoc she’d wrought among his cohort and her own was a step in letting them fade from oppressive consciousness.

            “Of course, Kel. I’d do that anyway—poor Seaver. Did you hear Yancen got himself wounded too? Shoulder, in a tangle with slave raiders. He’ll be alright but it was a near thing.”

            Other conversation eased Kel’s emotions, and there was a dinner for her to host, welcoming Thayet. Throwing caution to the winds she put a reluctant Dom at her side, doubled the usual high table, included all her own council and Irnai as well as Scanran chiefsmen, and insisted Lalasa and Tomas attend as personal guests, telling them they’d have to get used to it. She sat them by Daine, opposite Fanche and Saefas, so they’d have a familiar face and people she could count on to be sensible, but they like everyone had to deal with interspersed Scanrans, and Scanrans had to deal with darkings wandering the table-top and spidren, basilisk, and ogre at table-ends—the only place there was enough room. Barzha didn’t attend, but the Stone Tree Nation was in daily evidence, perched on roofs and merlons with a sated, sleepy look, but also quite talkative and for stormwings polite.

            The cooks had made an enormous effort, and for Thayet as much as the Scanrans it was a first encounter with New Hope’s goddess-blessed food. Thayet hadn’t been living on bulk food supplemented by game for months, and had some idea what to expect from Lalasa’s wedding feast, sighing her pleasure. The Scanrans exclaimed, settled to with gusto suddenly careless of their surroundings, and became as animated as stuffing themselves allowed; as everyone reached repletion the buzz of conversation in three tongues rose. There were, unavoidably, speeches, but Kel kept hers brief, the royals followed suit, and wine that had come with the queen served a valuable purpose for once; people shifted seats to pursue and switch conversations, followed the cheese-boards to where they were snagged by Quenuresh, argued keenly, and listened with interest. Feasts were as integral a tool of diplomacy as treaties and weddings, and this one began a more serious wave of thinking than had yet prevailed.

            The documents listing suggestions about what was needed to ensure peace were still being prepared but key issues had emerged—no surprises there—and while any large solution remained a matter of hope there were a lot of constituent issues that could be discussed. Yes, cross-border trade was needed, in both directions, but in what, exactly? And where _did_ those old rules about building wharves on the Vassa come from? Who, if anyone, was responsible for maintaining the Smiskir road? What rights did fiefs or clans have to vary tariffs set in Corus or Hamrkeng? Throughout the hall there were people who had answers but Kel thought the more valuable thing was questions that didn’t yet have any. In particular, what happened if the Craftsbeings’ Guild traded directly across a border, rather than through merchants? And what arrangements would apply to flying immortals—griffins, stormwings, perhaps dragons—who might as readily fly north of the Vassa as south of it? Those weren’t going to be answered this evening, but Kel did get Jonathan, Turomot, Harald, and Idrius into real discussion about how the Guild might best be legally understood in Corus and Hamrkeng, and the rights and privileges of its members.

            Thayet’s arrival had other effects, besides mellowing Jonathan. Her presence insisted on the seriousness of negotiations but shifted the atmosphere from military to more open debate and, in some measure, festival. Women in the queen’s party helped; so did the changing shape of daily life as rooms carved in the cliffs were occupied while ploughing continued up and down the valley, and sprawling, ever increasing bustle overran military dispositions. New Hopers rejoiced in not needing guards for every step outside the walls, and the watch remained skeletal, though Kel and Vanget, via Giantkiller, had screening patrols out. Peace might not be secured but was staking a claim, civilian greenery wrapping military stone.

            Other arrivals mattered too. Daine could deal with animal injuries too serious for Zerhalm, including some to Scanran ponies. Lindhall Reed and Bonedancer had escorted Daine in her pregnancy, and the flying fossil was another strike at Scanran susceptibilities. Its invulnerable, friendly disregard of propriety made it another wondrous visitor, beady-socketed discipline of Junior after he tried to assert the superiority of feathered flight made it impressive, and after a darking had (as Lindhall apologetically explained) shown it the dance of corpses, whenever it saw Kel out in the valley it would glide to perch on her shoulder, clattering its beak curiously at Ebony. Nari wasn’t happy to be displaced, and took to perching on its head until it flapped away again, but the picture Kel made on Alder’s back with its head rising above hers was one that sank deep. A very pregnant Buri also arrived, to Raoul’s relief and delight, and would stay until she was delivered.

            Having agitated mightily by spellmirror, and with Kel’s laughing consent, Owen was also allowed to come from Northwatch and took less than an hour to pronounce Scanrans very jolly fellows now they weren’t invading anything. His presence pushed Kel to arrange a private evening with fellow knights—Roald, Neal, Prosper, and Wyldon, who’d taught them all—and lay down her burden concerning the dead; whimsically enough, it was Lord Sakuyo’s feast day. Merric and Seaver could be grieved; Garvey, Quinden, and Vinson—not that he’d been a knight—were another matter, and behind them loomed Joren. Each had made choices and objectively Kel didn’t see why she should feel guilty about them; subjectively she was oppressed by their faces in dreams, living and—as she alone had seen all of them save Joren—dead, and was horribly aware she’d killed or buried half her year. Facts wouldn’t change, but Wyldon and Neal were unconcerned to find themselves in agreement that she bore no blame, and their unity was a flicker of the improbable she found comforting. Owen’s grey eyes rested on her wisely.

            “It’s just like you to feel bad for them, Kel, but they don’t deserve it. Merric’d tell you it was nonsense and it is. We can well do without those bullies _and_ their mentors. Now they’re gone we can all be prouder of being knights—remembering Merric and Seaver too. I know I am.”

            When she thought about it Kel was too, and a sense of having restored to her dream of knighthood something of the honour others had smirched, hating her for nothing she’d done, was more than balm; it was healing. _She_ hadn’t broken the code of chivalry, which reckoned no more of a thousand battlefield deaths than one, and had a conviction that her rape, echoing the contempt for women Joren and the traitor knights had all felt, was part of a pattern that had seen, if not justice done, a better future assured. The evening helped her mood, though the roadway could still welter in blood and coruscate with dragonfire if she didn’t make her eyes impose on memory its cleaned lines and the sunlit harmlessness of Chargy and his friends.

            Better still, Kel’s mother arrived with Anders. She’d waited to receive news from Yaman and was bubbling not only for her youngest daughter but because her eldest would be coming. Sitting in Kel’s rooms with Piers, Dom, and Tobe, she drank tea and waved letters.

            “The Yamanis won’t come for the treaty signing—His Imperial Majesty doesn’t think it’s properly His business—but he’s sending Prince Eitaro, no less, to witness your marriage, with Lord Kiyomori and Takemahou- _sensei_ in official capacities, and he asked Patricine and Toshuro to accompany Keiichi. You couldn’t keep the girls away with a stick, and I’ve told Avinor if he doesn’t pull his nose out of his books for once I’ll come and get him myself, so we’ll have you all together.” She beamed, even Conal’s absence filled by the thought of having her children assembled for the first time since—Kel had to think—Patricine’s wedding, when Kel was a child. “You must let Yuki know Keiichi’s coming, Kel sweeting, and tell Shinko about the delegation. _Lots_ of bowing. The only worry is that no-one likes the look of the Copper Isles and Rittevon messes tend to export trouble.”

            “I don’t think this one will, Mama. And I’ll bet the Rittevons will be gone before the end of summer. We just need to take any opportunity that offers to give them a shove—accept refugees, threaten to cut off trade if Tortallan or Yamani traders are threatened, that sort of thing. Emperor Kaddar should do the same—I’ve been working on the Hag. Then we’ll all be on the Crooked God’s good side, too.”

            “Sweeting?”

            “She’s been saying things like that for a while, love. I don’t quite understand her sense of what’s happening, but it’s been very persuasive so far. You’re one of Sakuyo’s Blessed too. I find squinting helps myself.”

            “Piers!”

            “What? Assuming the Rittevons are going to fall, which George has been saying for years they’re ripe to do, Kel’s advice was sound. I’ll write to His Imperial Majesty with proper caution. End of summer, Kel?”

            “Yes. It’s _raka_ business and revolution’s summer work. Talk to Barzha for shrewd guesses—she’s in touch with the _kudarung_.”

            “I shall.”

            “Kel sweeting, I obviously have a lot of catching up to do, but I refuse to be flummoxed. You’re getting married and _everyone_ will be here—Anders is scouting for Vorinna and Tilaine, as well as wanting to see you, and your grandma’s planning her trip. What are you looking so concerned about?”

            “Accommodation.” Kel sighed. “I thought I had it sorted but with Patricine and Toshuro—and their children?— _and_ Avinor and Grandma and whatever horde she brings it’s unsorted again.”

            “Oh sweeting, it’ll be alright. We can bunk down in the caves.”

            “You and four hundred soldiers and fifty ogres and gods alone know how many servants. It’s all very well laughing, Mama, but not a month ago I was seriously considering lodging Grandma and the rest up the cliff. The ogre lads were willing to do the hauling for Guild credit.”

            She had to explain that, then take her mother and Anders to see the hoist. After a long moment staring at contraption and cliff Ilane’s voice came out hollow.

            “Kel, sweeting, you seriously thought about lodging your Grandma at the top of this cliff?”

            “She’s got to go somewhere but I didn’t think you’d approve. And I’ve had Oakbridge summoned so he can explain to her why Fanche Miller will have precedence except at the wedding itself, or maybe not even there, I’m not sure. But you’ll probably have to explain it too.”

            Ilane stared again and dissolved into laughter. She was far too polite to howl with it but she did reach a point where she helplessly slapped her leg and Kel stared in disbelief. This was ridiculous.


	30. Benison

**Chapter Thirty — Benison**

_16 April – 1 May_

 

On the ides of April Barzha reported a large party on the Smiskir road, and at Kel’s request warned the smugglers they had unlikely business. The weather was improving but a swollen Vassa demanded experienced boatmen. Kel had had several large, simple shelters constructed by the Scanran encampment with stone excavated from the cliffs, and felt relieved at the prospect of getting underway.

            The shelters weren’t any kind of luxury but would keep Stenmun and whoever he was bringing dry—and their horses, a real concern with every stable overcrowded. Harald had been astonished, assuring her it wouldn’t be expected, but negotiating with damp men not getting enough sleep wasn’t what Kel had in mind. Once he understood she was serious and had the means to construct as well as excavate at far higher speeds than he was used to he became helpful, with many of his men. Kel wanted these structures removed once their purpose was fulfilled, so ogres undertook wall-building, fitting ashlar so tightly not even a knife could be forced between blocks; the roof was cloth thin enough to admit light, stretched over poles for basilisks to petrify. The result was a stunted barn with peculiar half-light and a much lower-pitched roof than seemed right, but the Scanrans whistled at what interspecies co-operation could manage and set about dividing interiors. Shaking heads at technique the ogres joined in, and by the time they were done the shelters were a sight any traveller would welcome, better than many Crown wayhouses—as Kel pointed out to Vanget. The fact that those using them would wake to see New Hope’s walls rising against the fin didn’t hurt either, and wasn’t lost on him.

            Kel’s handfasting and wedding guests, so far as they were distinct, were due at month’s end or in June, but remaining Councillors except Sir Myles, holding several forts in Corus with George and Prince Liam, had ridden in over the last week, including Duke Gareth, Lady Maura, and Lord Ferghal. Padraig and the pages also trooped in, eagerness tempered by awe and deftly harnessed by Kel with a speech that had both Wyldon and Neal shaking heads. The tests were held, Kel standing with Anders and her parents to see Lachran pass and his delight at the immediate offer from Imrah. Other squirings were sorted unusually rapidly, including Alan’s with Raoul, and pleased fourth years joined their juniors in doing what pages did—serving, fetching, carrying, running errands, and bunking off to explore and chatter. Kel was fascinated to meet Lady Maura but Lord Ferghal was the one who mattered.

            The haMinchi clanchief was taller and broader than his brother, a more ponderous presence though his face was just as mobile. Despite all he’d heard and could see he was genuinely concerned to assess Kel, and she’d spoken with Vanget at length about what was needed. With so many bodies everywhere and constant demands on her Kel had no time to give him a tour, and they’d have been for ever tripping over people anyway, but she ruthlessly consigned Gareth to his fellow Councillors and gave Lord Ferghal dinner privately, with Dom, Tobe, and Vanget. She had to use the council room, with food brought by Gydo, Loesia, and friends, but Ferghal appreciated what she was doing. Policies were in the air and he was there to help hammer them out, but needed to know who she was beneath her ballooning legend—what drove his powerful new neighbour, and the quality of her words and mind. Elemental, gods, and immortals had between them made her vision of what passed in the mortal realm horribly complicated, but she was frank about that, Vanget had been talking to his brother, and Ferghal had enough experience of the City of the Gods not to take exception to strange views of the divine. In private as unconcerned with honorifics as his brother, he had no doubt gods were at work, and wanted to know what she thought.

            “The gods answer when they want, Ferghal, not when I ask, and there’s far more I don’t understand than I do. But I think I know this. The Chaos Uusoae released during the Immortals War didn’t vanish when she was defeated and Ozorne fell. She’d touched immortals and had dealings with some of Ozorne’s mages, tainting them in ways that bothered the gods and caused trouble here. I don’t know if Maggur was tainted too—I think he just saw a way of taking advantage, and that Blayce was only what he seemed, a mage with a nasty talent and no conscience—but one way or another there was Chaos building up in Scanra that the gods wanted gone.” She sat back, swirling juice. “This bit’s tricky and I mean no offence, but Chaos was _able_ to gather partly because Tortall’s neglected its north. Our poverty, by Corus standards, and reliance on reluctant southern money for everything beyond survival have added up. And the further north, the more marginal the land.”

            “No offence in that, Keladry. The Scanrans eat grass when the harvest fails and we’ve come near it. You’re saying Maggur _and_ Chaos could get a grip in Scanra because they’re hungry and we’ve ignored that, as the Contés and those useless southern lords you’ve just decimated have been ignoring—no, enforcing—the poverty of the north.”

            Kel winced but nodded. “The fire was sparked outside but we had stuff that would burn everywhere, and it has. That’s our opportunity.”

            “Fire clearance?”

            “Say rather, hot metal can bend, and for whatever reasons the gods gave me a hammer.”

            “And you gave yourself a place to use it.” Vanget looked at his brother. “I told you, Fer—Kel’s not thinking about the next ten years or even thirty. She’s thinking about the next hundred. Talking to beings thousands of years old does things to your perspective.”

            “Is that right, Keladry?” Ferghal quirked heavy eyebrows, like a bear turning in its sleep. “And what does it mean in practical terms?”

            “I’m not sure, but we were talking about gods, and … this is no more than guessing, but I think that while they’re not concerned as they were with Uusoae’s legacy, they are in a benign mood, and if we try to do the right thing they’ll lend a hand. Or bless us anyway. I suppose it comes down to thinking big, for _all_ of us, Scanrans too. Jonathan wants a wall along the border, haMinches anchoring one end and Mindelans the other, and _has_ got the idea the southern lords need another counterweight—he told me so when he was waving his hands around extending New Hope from South Bend to Steadfast.”

            Ferghal laughed. “He told me that too by way of persuading me he hadn’t gone entirely mad. So you think we need to, what? Be willing to push for some bigger opportunity than the trade stuff and Corus–Hamrkeng contacts mooted so far?”

            “Yes. Let me show you something.”

            The night was mild, with a waxing gibbous moon, and she took them to the Eyrie, walking with Dom and Tobe to let Vanget talk to his brother. The surprised sentry had nothing to report and she introduced him to Ferghal before letting her guest look up and down the valley, dotted with lights, and over the intervening ridges to the glow of Riversedge. The moon was bright, inky woods over ridges, and crags gleaming harmony with the distant Vassa forcing its way to the sea.

            “Do you see the contradiction, Ferghal? Jonathan didn’t, when he was creating a New Hope he can think of as his own invention.”

            Vanget barked a laugh. “You’re reading him very well, Kel. Alanna’ll like that one. What contradiction d’you mean?”

            “He started by saying the Greenwoods valley was a natural fief, from Great North to Frasrlund roads. Three breaths later the Brown River was a natural boundary. And he never even thought to question _that_ river as a natural boundary.” Her hand sketched the sweep of the Vassa valley, clearer from this height than ever from the ground. “Yes, it’s big, and divides territory. But so does the Greenwoods and we need both sides of that. We don’t need a wall. We need a … I don’t think there’s a word, a society of the Vassa valley to connect with the Berint.”

            “Huh.” Ferghal nodded slowly. “Alright, I think I understand what you’re driving at. But the Vassa’s not as navigable as the Olorun or Drell—too fast and cold, too many rapids.”

            “I know, though the lower reaches could be used more, and the Scanran ones. But there’s the Frasrlund and Vassa roads, and no reason settlements on either side can’t have a rope-ferry or boat service—those smugglers I used to get to Rathhausak make a living and they’re not the only ones working the river.”

            “Hardly. Van was right about you. Not that I doubted you, Van, but you were telling very tall tales. I expect you’re right about the gods, Keladry, and they’ll do what they do. What I think is, they chose well, very well, in you, and it’s clear you’ve grown with it. Must hurt, the rate they’ve forced you to grow—or you’ve forced yourself, if Van’s right about that too. Either way, we’ve common ground, and I’ll sleep tonight with more hope than I had last for my grandson’s days. Can’t ask more.”

            He offered a thick hand and Kel took it, knowing what it meant. They’d shaken hands when they first met, but that had been ritual; this stated and demanded trust, and for Ferghal to offer it to a girl not yet of age, with lands to match his own thrust on her by a whirl of events beyond mortal comprehension, took her breath away. He shook Dom’s and Tobe’s hands too, close family as implicit in that trust as she, and they went down talking of how New Hope was organised and practically of what the negotiations would require.

            That night Kel’s dreams were unusually sunny and cheerful, Yamani blossom drifting across the Vassa, and she woke feeling that she was at least barking up the right tree. The feeling was with her as she rode down to meet Stenmun Gunnarsson. She had Uinse and an honour guard but nothing more—the Scanrans answered her summons under _blódbeallár_ and though it was a fiction it mattered. She’d given them an hour to sort themselves out and learn from Harald what had happened since Stenmun had ridden into the night; now she went to discover who had come with what purpose or hope. Stenmun was waiting, Harald at his side and newcomers beyond. Fierce eyes above cropped or braided beards surveyed her as she dismounted, but she was as tall as any of them and gave a collective nod as her attention turned to Stenmun.

            “Stenmun Gunnarsson, Clan Somalkt, you come ahead of your word. Did you secure the hostages you rode to save?”

            “We did, Protector. All are safe in their clanhomes and bards make songs of Maggur Reidarsson’s end and the Protector’s power and mercy. I am charged to offer you the thanks of many husbands and fathers.”

            “They’re welcome, Stenmun. I offer thanks also, for the honour and helpfulness of your men. They have done much.”

            “So I see and hear, Protector. And I must thank you for these shelters, beyond our expectation.”

            She smiled at him. “I thought dry bedding and space to think might be a help. Whom have you brought that the truce may become more?”

            His smile was complicated. “Once I might have said the Council of Ten, but it is presently a Council of Eight, Sven Bjornsson and Maggur Reidarsson having been plucked from their seats. Still, the Eight are here, and recognising much may change a dozen more clanchiefs, to witness and that their voices may be called on.”

            Kel wasn’t sure whether to swallow or dance, and let him introduce the rulers of Scanra, meeting eyes and shaking hands. If pressure was exerted she exerted it back while she tried to sift minds and attitudes. It wasn’t as one would expect—the remaining Council members had been too powerful for Maggur to ignore, yet cowed, while the lesser chiefs included at least three she thought might soon be added to the Eight, including a man Stenmun introduced as his clanchief, Ragnar Ragnarsson of Somalkt. But that was Scanran business, and she shifted to brisker mode.

            “Councillors and chiefs of Scanra, you answer _blódbeallár_ but know as well as I it is a means to an end, and the end peace, now and for all our children’s lives. Beltane nears, but we cannot rush to failure.” It was late in the day and she could see older men feeling the riding they’d done. “Rest after your journey. Food awaits, and my guard have copies of documents for you to consider—a plan of the valley, indicating where immortals dwell, and a list of things your men and my people hope may come to pass, whose origin Harald can explain. Tomorrow, look about. If you come unarmed and pass the Honesty Gate you have the freedom of New Hope. King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, the Crown couple, and our Councillors will be available to meet but not yet to argue. That will begin the day after, two hours past dawn. Do any object?”

            Stenmun seemed to be spokesman and Kel noted whose eyes he met in swift enquiry before shaking his head.

            “That is well, Protector. Your goodwill is again appreciated.”

            “I want my children and grandchildren to live in peace, Stenmun, so I will do everything in my power— _everything_ —to ensure we do _not_ fail to forge a treaty that will last. And while as she who called _blódbeallár_ on Maggur Reidarsson I could by right moderate these negotiations, I am sworn to King Jonathan and the House of Conté, which is awkward.”

            Stenmun flashed a smile. “There is that.”

            “So I have asked another to moderate, beyond all mortal bias. Lady Kawit Pearlscale, a _wyrm_ of more than seventy centuries, arrives tomorrow, and with her Lady Skysong, a _draca_ in her first century, whom she teaches. Lady Kawit will moderate and the griffins attend, that all speak truth.”

            That news hit hard and an older man among the Eight she’d marked as one who’d blown easily with Maggur’s wind cried out.

            “ _Wyrm_ and _draca?_ Do you think us simple, woman?”

            Kel wasn’t conscious of having done anything but saw him step back as she spoke. “You think them fables, Councillor? Think again, for you will speak with Lady Kawit tomorrow, and will find she cares no more for angry bluster than griffins. Or than I for witless discourtesy.”

            He was mottled with anger—and fear—but others, men she thought the powers here, were concealing smiles. She left them, promising to return in the morning to answer questions and facilitate requests. Riding back she found Uinse in high good humour at her “dressin’-down of the blotchy cove”, and discovered she was pleased herself. After Torhelm, Tortallans—Guisant and Runnerspring excepted—had given up addressing her with crude disrespect and she saw no reason not to slap it down in Scanrans. But she had, she realised, said nothing about Freja’s grave, and resolved to do so tomorrow. Perhaps no-one cared—none among the soldiers had claimed any relation—but the point should be made.

            Entering New Hope she faced voluble demands from Jonathan and assorted Councillors for names and assessments of who had come. She blunted curiosity, Ebony providing images and Gareth condensing what she said into a crib sheet, before declaring herself in need of food and politely suggesting they practice containing themselves. Dom wasn’t there but Anders was, with her parents, and taking his arm she set off for the messhall dragging everyone behind her. She’d seen Wyldon, Raoul, Alanna, Roald and others smiling as they chivvied a less amused Blue Harbour and Disart, and was content with that but disconcerted to find Anders shaking with the laughter he was holding in.

            “Little sister, that was priceless. Just like Mother when she wanted us all like ducklings behind her and _no_ messing about. Inness would laugh too. And Patricine—I _am_ looking forward to seeing her. She’ll like your Dom as well, as I do—you’ve a good man there.”

            “I know, Anders. And if I’m becoming like Mama I’m not repining. You could say all this started the day those raiders came and I was with her when she rescued the swords. It’s not been easy following her.”

            “I don’t suppose it has, Kel. Is that what you’ve been doing all these years, trying to rescue the swords of law and duty yourself?”

            “In a way. I can hear that lady-in-waiting who died—what was her name? She was noh Takanuji. Anyway, she said, _The short sword is the sword of law. Without it, we are only animals. The long sword is the sword of duty. It is the terrible sword, the killing sword._ I’ve never forgotten, and I liked the idea of duty as a killing sword even before seeing Mama kill those raiders and getting covered in blood. Scanran blood, but it’s only now I’ve really understood what she meant about duty and it took more Scanran and Tortallan blood than you’d believe. I think Lord Sakuyo was watching that day and filed my thought away.”

            “Do you, Kel? That’s another of your odd ideas, I suppose, but I think I know what you mean. We should talk after dinner—we’ve barely had a chance with you being so busy, but I do admire New Hope, and if I don’t have a clear sense of what _you_ want for your wedding to report Vorinna will never forgive me.”

            “I’d like that. We’ll cut out to my rooms. No-one but Tobe and Dom’ll be there—and actually he’s on duty, so he won’t be either.”

            They did slip away, leaving King and Councillors to speculate about things they’d soon know, and as at Mindelan Kel found it was Anders more than anyone she needed to talk to. She could narrate the siege as she’d seen it, the feel of mageblasts and dragonscale in her hand; her terror and prayers as much to Conal’s spirit as Lord Sakuyo when she ran the fin, and her sense of flying beside Junior; weltered blood and tumbling limbs, and the lack of them with dragonfire; the terrible impact of stormwing fear and its similarity to the elemental’s tests; her guilt and shame, even the amelioration of it Dom’s love brought.

            “Gods, yes, Kel, that doesn’t change. After Conal’s death I couldn’t wait to be with Vorinna. I don’t know what to say to the rest, except I’m proud of you, more than I can say, and grateful, for Mindelan and Tortall. You know Father is too? He’s … I don’t know, piously bemused, I suppose, at the gods’ attention but bursting with pride. I saw it when I became a knight, and when Inness did, and you’ve always had a special place in his heart.”

            “I don’t mean to worry him with things I say, Anders. Or anyone.”

            “But you’ve been pushed about by the gods so much you’re getting a sense of their rhythm.”

            “Yes. So much has burned away—literally—that what’s left seems quite clear. For a moment, sometimes. And there are things I know that I can’t talk about.”

            “Can’t or won’t?”

            “Can’t—not my secrets to tell. But it’s only putting together what immortals who _can_ sense the timeway are willing to say. Diamondflame, mostly, but Quenuresh, Barzha, and Cloestra.”

            “Is it? I could hardly make sense of Mother when she arrived, saying you’d left on a dragon and Runnerspring had tricked the king.”

            “Does she think that? It’s not true, Anders—Jonathan tricked Runnerspring and gambled on me, not that he understood what risks he was running. One thing I’d like to know is whether he had advice from His Imperial Majesty—maybe it’s another of those things I say, but I’ve been wondering if Lord Sakuyo might have tried a discreet push.”

            They were interrupted by Dom’s arrival as his shift ended, but it was equally satisfying for Kel to listen to lover and favourite brother forge friendship. Anders at least would never question Dom’s lameness, and she found herself wondering how his own might play into, or against, her perception of a halt quartet while Baird had laved her throbbing foot. Wedding plans were more fun if she didn’t worry about how crowded everything would be. And familial domesticity seemed as much as her stolen meeting with Lalasa a proper prelude to negotiations—it was what they’d be negotiating _for_ and it was good to be reminded of it.

            She went to see the Council of Eight and clanchiefs next morning as promised, and one did acknowledge Freja Haraldsdottir so she went with him to Haven while others began a day of wandering discovery. First priority seemed to be an account of the siege from Stenmun, Harald, and others, with much gesturing at rockfalls—already partly rebuilt—roadway, and skulls. By late morning they’d progressed south to gape at toiling basilisks, ogres, Tortallans, and Scanrans creating accommodation while visitors already quartered there picked their way back and forth. There were courtiers, nobles, knights, squires, observers of all degree from Riversedge and Bearsford, and servants, all busy as bees and surrounded by Scanrans anyway so what difference did another score make? Kel was careful not to laugh at the discomfiture of some of the Eight at how little notice anyone took of them, and found her eyes caught with shared amusement by Harald and Ragnar Ragnarsson, whose father, Stenmun told her quietly, had died at the Bloody Plains and who had been excluded from his place on the Council of Ten. She’d marked Ragnar as one she didn’t think would be excluded much longer, and after she restored collective dignity by offering lunch managed a discreet conversation eliciting his views of the Eight.

            Entering New Hope meant Honesty Gate declarations and formal introductions, to New Hope’s council and King-in-Council. The notes Kel had given the Scanrans included their own crib sheet, with Quenuresh’s dimensions, so whatever the nerves there were no surprises but she did see the eyes of a couple of the Eight spark with interest at the order of protocol, and spoke to them about the weird and wonderful things that happened when legal fictions were observed to a nicety—the King being the King, of course, but having come in-Council as a guest inspecting a putative fief, while she as wartime commander had called the truce on behalf of the children of New Hope, whose council were the hosts. Both were interested, and Thayet overheard, agreeing with a dazzling smile that fictions made so many things oddly possible. Talk evolved into a royal invitation to dine, where although Kel’s people were providing food royal servants would wait and Kel would be her monarchs’ guest. One reason for desiring Thayet’s presence had been to have a social host and she happily left the queen to it, dropping in on other conversations as she made her way out. After lunch there was no escaping a partial tour, but she had a spectacle for all to witness, and drew everyone back down the roadway to see ogres build a low circular wall twenty feet across, not far from where the trebuchet had stood and Maggur died. They used finstone basilisks broke and shaped from the remains of casts, and when they were done Numair swirled a matching circle of water from the swollen Greenwoods, froze it, and held it in place while Var’istaan turned it to rockice. Others were driving poles and spreading cloth in a canopy for petrification over what had become a great circular table.

            “Our negotiating venue. And our moderator.”

            She’d ridden out to meet Kawit the previous day, and Kitten had been amused to be asked to participate in an invisibility spell. Kawit had been amenable to making an entrance, and the effect as an eighteen-foot _wyrm_ and attendant _draca_ , however small, glimmered into view, inspecting the table with approval, was worth the effort. The man who’d mocked her yesterday went dead white and every Scanran tensed. Ragnar Ragnarsson turned to her.

            “The little one is truly _draca?_ ”

            “She is, Ragnar. Dragons don’t fledge for several centuries. Lady Skysong is an orphan in the Godborn’s care, studying with Lady Kawit.”

            He sighed. “I had heard but not believed. It is as if I step from nightmare into fable.” His voice dropped. “I would thank you for Maggur Reidarsson’s death. My father rests better for it.”

            “I imagine many do, Ragnar, but we must be sure his grandchildren live better also. And we’ve something else we should do. Follow my lead?”

            The griffins were circling down to greet Kawit and Kitten and see the table, and Kel led everyone down to be introduced. The griffins only stared, as usual, though they did give the royals regal nods, but Kawit spoke in a mindvoice all could hear and the shiver in all spines was very satisfactory. Kawit introduced the griffins with full, incomprehensible names, inducing another set of regal nods, and, dryly observing it might save time later, invited all to try to utter untruth. Primed by Kel, Ragnar stood forward but after the usual stranglings into silence suddenly roared a laugh, and spoke in Scanran.

            “It is true! All will be bound to truth alone. So tell me now, Lars Jonsson, before these immortal lords, if you bore false witness against my father? Deny it here in plain words and I will believe you.”

            The atmosphere went from wonder-strained to cracklingly tense in a second, but Jonsson was the man who’d mocked her and Kel could see others of the Eight were interested. As it became plain Jonsson couldn’t deny it faces hardened and a sharp signal from one of the men who’d enjoyed her protocol had two burly clanchiefs escorting him to the encampment, looking ever smaller between them. The signaller was lord of the lands round Hamrkeng, and he considered Kel and the King before speaking Scanran as if they weren’t there.

            “You have seized a moment, Ragnar Ragnarsson, and the Council sees. But you have done it to our disadvantage. Explain yourself.”

            “Jorvik Hamrsson, how could it be our advantage to have a man who bore false witness to murder a clanchief speaking for us? Before _wyrm_ , _draca_ , and griffin I claim my father’s place, my own by right, making good the Council’s loss. You lose a liar and gain one who will speak truth.”

            Glances flickered and Hamrsson nodded. “We do.” Kel saw Stenmun clench his fist in triumph as Hamrsson switched to Tortallan. “Forgive us, Protector—a little housekeeping. The table is admirable and Lady Kawit a choice beyond hope. We thank the lord and lady griffin also for their grace of truth. And we have business we must attend, if you will excuse us?”

            “Of course, Jorvik Hamrsson. I will see you at Her Majesty’s feast this evening, where we may continue our interesting talk of fictions.”

            His eyes flashed amusement as he nodded gravely. “Until then.”

            Raoul drifted to Kel’s side. “If you don’t like the odds, change ’em?”

            She smiled grimly. “Not really, Raoul—more a longshot. Jonsson was the last willing loyalist, I think—we’re down to bullied and coerced. And once they get over their immediate discomfort it’ll make things easier.”

            _I agree, Protector. The griffins say he blazed with lies, but the others seem more open. They desire a real settlement, I believe. It is some of your countrymen who still think in much smaller terms._

            The mindvoice was for her alone but her reply couldn’t be. “Oh, I know, Kawit.” Kel gestured to the table. “But you need small stuff, all interlocked, before you put weight on it.”

            Kawit’s hissing laugh brought stares but Raoul just looked at Kel and then at the table, and began to grin.

 

* * * * *

 

In many ways the negotiations were a protracted anticlimax. Everyone knew war had decisively ended, wanted a peace treaty they could live with, and saw no reason they couldn’t have one. The presence of Kawit, endlessly courteous but unmoved by rhetoric, especially when not backed by facts, prevented extravagant posturing, and the griffins, stock still on opposite sides of the table save when they prowled a semi-circle to exchange places, kept people truthful, so a great deal was achieved in a low-key, incremental way. Kel couldn’t blame Jonathan for using the threat of reparations, though the griffins meant he had to word implications carefully and she thought Hamrsson had worked out he was prepared to forgo them long before he let himself be coaxed into doing so. But it worked well as a stick, became a carrot at need, and in its surrender secured a tranche of agreements. Ambassadors would be exchanged by Hamrkeng and Corus, with a spellmirror relay to pass messages. There would be visits by Senior Persons in both directions to foster knowledge, any wolfship raiding Tortall would find itself arrested on its return, and Jonathan would sponsor an urgent meeting between the Council of However Many and His Imperial Majesty to stop Scanran piracy directed at the Islands. There would be food—southern Tortallan grains and durable fruits, in greater quantity when northern harvests were poor, and at a price less than Tortallans might want but within Scanran means.

            As things dragged into a second week Kel took a more active role. The weather wasn’t helpful, drizzle falling often with a fitful, chill breeze, so she spent time introducing small comforts. Basilisks heated blocks, whose warming glow was appreciated by older backs and knees, and a fire with a cauldron never more than a moment from the boil was a different kind of boon. Trays of fingerfood with Yuki’s moorish pickles and dips made regular appearances. The loan of New Hope equipment enabled the Scanrans to return hospitality, at tables set up on a thankfully dry night under awnings strung from their shelters. Other evenings of goodwill surrounded long days with a buzz of social exchange and ripening friendships. And in case anyone should forget what mattered, children, mortal and immortal, were in constant attendance, despite frequent dullness. The fact that Irnai was always present, seated with Kitten between Kawit’s forepaws, leaning against the opal dragon’s hot chest, did no harm either.

            As a swamp of details was waded through Kel started nudging more pointedly and occasionally bearing down. The bigger picture, dropped from her considerable height, had a way of making pettier lines being drawn look unimportant, and even dearly held grievances might waver. Occasional sharper force might also work wonders, and she got cross enough with Disart’s insistence on protecting his profit on the rye needed for black breads that would keep she threatened to recoup it thrice over in prices for icelights, webbing, and the Guild extension to his summer dwelling he’d been so eager about. He wavered, Macayhill laughed at his notorious tight-fistedness with a familiar joke that made him scowl, Kawit fixed him with an enquiring stare, and he crumbled. Kel gave equally short shrift to Scanrans trying to extend the concession to wheat, pointing out reparations had been forgone, not reversed, and even-handedly rebuked anyone who forgot it was children’s lives that were at stake, not the immediate health of pockets.

            Fifty niggling problems and recalcitrant details were picked through, hammered out, or swept aside, but Kel could see the holes being left. Scanrans had no model for local treaties with immortals, and while positive reactions to basilisks and ogres among men who’d been exposed to them at New Hope were potent, and would spread good word when they returned to clanhomes and villages, newer arrivals still had visceral feelings. The sheer, intimidating bulk of Quenuresh didn’t help, and her soft-spoken explanations of what might and might not work provided too many things needing effort and not enough certainty. The Scanrans might be able to see how powerful a tool cooperation could be but also knew how villagers confronted with immortals would react. Despite Kel’s arguments and corrections of fact by Kawit no clanchief was willing to go beyond a promise to see what might be done, and no putative contract for basilisk stonework had been signed.

            To the clanchiefs caution with the unknown was only sensible, and the greater the wonder, the stronger the testimony of men who’d been at the battle, the more they could feel New Hope was a special case, astounding and very interesting—in its place, which fortunately or otherwise was Tortall. The same reactions St’aara had reported from Tortallan villagers were cited—quarrymen and builders would be out of work; people would panic, and offer violence; shamans would object: all the guises fearful prejudice took. Guild members were welcome to visit clanhomes to make their case, but in Scanran minds immortals were creatures of war and disruption—as dragons were _eald uhtsceatha_ , whatever Kawit and Kitten were like. Having played on those fears Kel couldn’t complain but knew what was being agreed wasn’t enough and left an ugly question hanging over a border—her border—where a fief full of immortals would meet Scanran territory. Sooner or later there’d be a Scanran Gothas with someone dead or injured, and without authority to come down hard consequences would spiral.

            In a way the whole treaty was hollow—a tracery of agreements circling the commitments of Corus and Hamrkeng to talk and trade, like hoops around a stick with no spokes to make all turn together. As Beltane loomed the weather improved, showers giving way to high, scudding clouds and blue sky. Fields were full of shoots, ogre numbers meant a still steeper slope had been terraced, retaining walls striping the valleyside like the risers of steps for the gods, and the southern cliff boasted a basilisk-and-ogre house that delved deep and high into the rock; four full stories of windows speckled the limestone with dark oblongs by day and patches of light by night. It was all so hopeful, but to Kel murmured of gaping spaces within what looked solid.

            In her heart she knew what was needed but quailed at what it would mean for her life, and that of the eldest girl among the brood she and Dom liked imagining. But she had to see through what she’d started, and with two days to Beltane, the bulk of the treaty complete and formally copied, and warning from Mastiff that Inness and her sisters-in-law would arrive tomorrow, she sorted out maps she needed and spread the first before the Eight, now including Ragnar Ragnarsson. They clustered round and she addressed Jorvik Hamrsson.

            “So—the treaty is done, and you are all content with it?”

            He nodded cautiously. “I believe so, Protector. We have achieved more than I thought possible.”

            “Well and good. _Blódbeallár_ remains. Who is lord of Rathhausak?”

            Tension was palpable and Jorvik’s voice went to flat neutrality. “The lord of Rathhausak is dead at your hand.”

            “Not so. Maggur Reidarsson died the stormwing death he deserved.” Her smile was thin. “I can’t say I planned it, and Stenmun Gunnarsson can tell you of the need to tear Ættrengar from his lips, but I realise it leaves room to say the terms of _blódbeallár_ are unfulfilled—for if he had died by my glaive I could claim clan and land.”

            “By _blódbeallár_.”

            She changed tack. “Show me the land that was Maggur’s.”

            “Clanlands are not fixed like fiefdoms, Protector. We hunt as much as grow, and men go where they must for game. Lands overlap.”

            “Roughly, then. He held the Pakkai valley?”

            “Yes.”

            “And what happened where it meets the Smiskir?”

            “Part of that also, south of Clan Swithtrem.”

            “And had responsibility for maintaining the Smiskir road?

            “Not that he fulfilled it.”

            “But someone must, if we are to trade. Who holds the Smiskir valley to the Vassa, and the lands of the Vassa to the south-west?”

            He shrugged. “None, Protector. The people there are clanless, like those smugglers you asked to assist our crossing.”

            “So all this”—she leaned forward, finger tracing a great cone of land, spreading south from the upper reaches of the Pakkai—“lies open to a claim that can be made good?”

            He was very tense. “What making good might mean, though …”

            “Oh I know. But look.” She unrolled another map, northern Tortall at the same scale, and placed them beside one another, finger tracing. “Those are the boundaries of New Hope to be confirmed by His Majesty when he makes the grant in warison, between signing of the treaty and my handfasting before the gods, on Beltane.” Tension became frowns. “The King started off wanting a wall along the border, and he’s settled for a buffer zone called New Hope. You have your own zone of unclaimed lands and an abandoned clanhome whose surviving liegers have been under my protection for two years. We all have a treaty based on trade in place of war and roads that should connect but don’t because the Great North Road stops and the Smiskir road is little maintained.”

            Jonathan and the Councillors were peering as well, and he frowned. “What are you suggesting, my Lady?”

            “We don’t need a wall, sire. We need a bridge. You said you wanted New Hope astride the Great North Road, and extended my boundaries west to do it. But I think I’d like it at my gates.” She traced the road from Bearsford to the upper end of the Greenwoods valley, then slid her finger sideways. “I want the road diverted down the valley, so it’s _that_ road.” She pointed to the trail not five hundred yards away. “Then it becomes the Frasrlund road until it hits the north bend of the border. And there we need a bridge, a real bridge over the Vassa, so it can head across the angle to become the Smiskir road, and run from Corus to Hamrkeng. If the Council of Eight allows my claim under _blódbeallár_ the road will run from Bearsford to the Pakkai in my territory, and New Hope will guard that bridge. As it stands the treaty has no heart—but New Hope can be that heart if you will let it.”

            Jonathan frown deepened. “I appreciate symbolism, my Lady, but a bridge means guards. I don’t want _that_ kind of military commitment.”

            “New Hope already has them, sire—mortal and immortal—and it’s not as if lack of a bridge stops armies getting across. The Vassa inhibits ordinary contact and trade. It doesn’t stop invasion.”

            “Huh.”

            Jorvik sat forward. “I appreciate this idea, Protector, and we have spoken among ourselves of your claim to Rathhausak. The castle is burned, the village deserted, and as you say you have care of its people already. Your holding land is strange for us, in many ways, but you are a proven warrior, speaking our tongue and wise beyond your years. We will allow your claim. But—Maggur Reidarsson held a seat on the Council before he took the throne, and that is another matter.”

             “I want no more seats on any councils—two are quite enough.”

            “So you say now. And in ten years’ time?”

            “We’ll see where we are and think differently if we need.”

            “Perhaps. I also wonder how you think we may bridge the Vassa. It is not unbridged because of wars or none wanting to cross dryshod.”

            “I know, but I believe it can be done. There will be only one cost for Tortall or Scanra—the proper building of the road, through this valley, to the Vassa and the lands of Clan Swithtrem. Once built, New Hope will maintain it, but the building needs many hands to be done swiftly.”

            “What kind of swiftly do you have in mind, my Lady?” Jonathan was now looking more thoughtful than concerned.

            “If you agree I’d hope to build the bridge by Midsummer. ”

            “Midsummer? That’s … ridiculous.”

            “What odds would you have given on New Hope being built in a summer? You could call the bridge my bride gift to my fief.”

            Scanran conversation was buzzing and Jorvik had been listening with the Eight. “I agree with the King. It’s ridiculous.”

            “But will you accept it if it’s done?”

            He sat back, baffled by her calm, and Jonathan laughed. “Interesting feeling isn’t it, Lord Jorvik? Welcome to the Protector’s world. If you can build a bridge by Midsummer, Keladry, I’ll build my end of the road. And of course what territory you hold beyond _my_ borders isn’t really my business, though when—mark it, Lord Jorvik, when—you do have to join the Council of Ten there’ll be a score of impossible things to sort out. Still, that’ll likely be Roald’s business and your son’s, Lord Jorvik, not ours—a legacy I’m happy to leave them. Will you and your fellows look to the Smiskir road?”

            There were glances and murmurs before Jorvik nodded. “Why not? All here must return that way. If we can cross the Vassa dryshod to do so, we will repair as we go.”

            Kel sat, legs suddenly weak. All she had to do now was build an impossible bridge. And become a Countess and Clanchief and handfast Dom in two days time, before most of Tortall, half of Scanra, and the gods. The bridge was the easy part.

 

* * * * *

 

Beltane dawned bright and clear, newborn May shaking off the last tatters of cloud. With all that would happen there was no early offering, but after glaive practice brought her calm Kel knelt before all seven shrines, asking benison for more than herself. Lord Sakuyo’s statue seemed cheery in his niche and the icelights brighter than usual.

            Taking pity, Kel had restricted Master Oakbridge’s duties to the wedding and made her own dispositions today. Political rankings for treaty signing and creation pretty much sorted themselves, and her guests didn’t yet include older kin who believed most fervently in precedence nor a Yamani delegation with odd attitudes to Sakuyo’s Blessed. Her siblings or friends weren’t going to fuss, so it was only that among her handfasting guests would be the King-in-Council and a clansworth of Scanrans; New Hope’s main level had room, even with a Beltane bonfire built on the ranges. The day’s rhythm was dictated by needs for the treaty signing to be witnessed by all, Scanran primacy in declaring rule over Rathhausak, Tortallan primacy at her creation, and her own with Dom for the handfasting. But the whole package would be offered together for the gods’ blessings, hence the need to invite Scanrans to her handfasting and cram in as many people as possible. There was also the need to jump the fire afterwards, and Kel had visions of people being toasted in the crush, but when Ebony discovered what she was muttering about the darkings offered to form a picture on the western wall for all outside to see. It was as hard to kiss a darking as to hug an ogre but Kel managed, and a second fire in the field would counterweight New Hope’s.

            At breakfast everyone was self-consciously calm in finery, and there wasn’t any hurry, for in Scanran tradition oaths were sworn at noon. Kel spent time with Lalasa, fussing over last touches to yet another border on her kimonos and personal standard. Tomas was with Dom being masculine somewhere, her parents were making sure her older nieces and nephews were introduced to everyone, and Kel was able just to chat, letting her stomach mind its own business. She’d known Lalasa half her life, and on the foundations of self-defence and the bond forged on Balor’s Needle something astonishing had blossomed. Protector’s Maids were a manifestation; its heart was a personal tie as absolute as any born of combat and indifferent to rank. Behind a very closed door they had as frank and funny a conversation about men as Alanna had managed, from a very different perspective; it surprised Kel that now she had experience to judge by she found the shamelessness of which matrons were capable in private entertaining. Talk moved on to notions about how Guild and Maids might interact: Kel didn’t want the lower city neglected while the wealthy satisfied indulgence, nor to become a charity, and a Guild shop near the _Dancing Dove_ with Maids to assess requests might be just the thing. They were deep in discussion when Tobe came to say everyone was assembling.

             The main level was already crowded, hundreds milling about behind the procession forming up. For this Kel was one of the Council and took a place beside her father, who clasped her hand, eyes shining. He alone here had done something similar before, when he’d signed the Yamani treaty in the King’s name; otherwise, even for Turomot and Nond, the only thing that came close was the Drell Peace of 435, and that had been a lesser business, with no final battle, only release of hostages, and Kings Ain and Roald never meeting. The Immortals War had ended by thunderclap when gods acted, so one had to go back to Jasson’s conquest of Barzun in 378 to find a Tortallan king striding onto a battlefield to sign such a document. Jonathan did it splendidly, arm-in-arm with Thayet, Roald and Shinko behind him, sumptuously dressed. Councillors came behind in fief tunics, or in Lady Maura’s case an interesting combination of embroidered tunic and skirts Kel knew Lalasa would note. Other insignia showed above fief sigils—Turomot’s as Lord Magistrate, Gareth’s as Prime Minister, Padraig’s as Training Master, Alanna’s as Champion; Raoul bore the Own’s crest and Vanget the crossed blades of the army. Behind the King’s Council came New Hope’s, and a stream of people who now it came to it couldn’t quite believe war was vanquished.

            The Scanrans were equally striking, Council, clanchiefs, and men in great array. Braids were ornamented with beads of gold and sea-ivory, leather gleamed, and sunlight glinted on the axes of an honour guard. King and Councils flowed into place, others crowded round or lined the roadway, and stormwings perched on roosts Kel had had put up, with basilisks, ogres, spidrens, fossil, centaurs, griffins, and dragon kit in a block. The centaurs had braceleted arms and pasterns and braided tails, but others didn’t feel they needed any embellishment and were right.

            The treaty was far too long to read aloud and both copies had been scrutinised, so only a summary was needed and Kel wasn’t giving it. She’d been pressed but said she’d quite enough to do and it was Kawit’s job. It might be odd to declare by mindvoice but Kawit had no problem speaking for all to hear, and the effects on those with no experience of being spoken to by a dragon was an excellent cause of gravitas. For those who had it was still impressive but less intimidating; by the end the signing parties were in considerable good humour with one another, and sat at the rockice table. When it was done and King Jonathan and Jorvik Hamrsson each stood holding copies their eyes met and they unhesitatingly stepped up on to the table to shake hands and embrace.

            While the silence lasted Kel was simply glad she’d had the table made massive enough to withstand the weight. Then Scanrans clashed arms on chests, once, twice, and the cheering would have lifted the roof if there’d been one. Order dissolved, voices soared, joy spilled into tears, and Kel found herself embraced, backslapped, pummelled, whirled about, and set all but dancing as people—her people—expressed extremity of feeling. The Scanrans had their own reliefs and embraces, and cheerfully joined in, braids flying. Younger immortals were roused, Amourta and Junior whistling dizzily through the air and the young basilisks and Kit looking as if they wished they were built for dancing too. When she saw them, standing with Tobe and Irnai, Kel managed to duck the embrace of an enormous Scanran and make her way to them, drawing her son and Irnai close for a moment, and hugging Amiir’aan as she’d done once before. Kit snuggled onto her lap, Bel’iira shyly pressed against her leg, and Junior and Amourta too swooped down to be made much of. Even the youngest spidrens, now the size of a platter, came scuttling across with enquiring looks and Kel was sufficiently mellow to love even them, and knew they liked their backs very gently scratched.

            “You really are as bad as Daine, you know.” Alanna was smiling at her. “That first time at the Swoop it took her less than a day to collect Roald and Kalasin, my three, and what was it first? An osprey, I think. Then a dog, cats, gods know what all trailing her like ducklings. Then bats, I’m told, and owls, though I wasn’t there for that bit, and finally a kraken. I’m surprised you didn’t recruit it to defend Mindelan.”

            “I thought about it but Daine said it wasn’t a good idea.”

            Alanna dissolved into laughter. “Good call. It was _very_ big.”

            _Grandsire says the kraken is very old. Do you think he will come?_

            “I’m not sure, Kitten. Ebony relayed an invitation weeks ago.”

            “You invited Diamondflame?”

            “Of course I did, Alanna. And any dragon who’ll come. There’s unfinished business—don’t ask me what, but to do with the skullroad.”

            “If you say so. Well, dragons will be fun, I’m sure. Anyone else?”

            “Daine thinks her parents will come. They can cross on Beltane—that’s why she’s here, after all.”

            Alanna cackled. “Maybe we should have conception days as well as birthdays. I could name my children’s.”

            “I couldn’t.” Kel’s arms were round Tobe and Irnai. “But Beltane’s always been a day for that, hasn’t it, and the real handfasting is Tortall and Scanra.”

            “With New Hope as their child in attendance already?” Alanna cackled again. “Now there’s a metaphor I can tease Jon with. Not that you haven’t been doing a good job with walls.” She looked down more soberly. “And in case I forget later, Kel, gods all bless. You’re a wonder, you know, and you’ve done so much more than I ever dreamed possible.”

            She dropped a kiss on Kel’s forehead and sauntered off to bemuse someone else. Kel let the children’s presence settle her tumbling heart, and cocked her head at Irnai. “Is Lady Shakith saying anything?”

            Irnai’s eyes seemed to deepen as she thought, or asked, and she smiled that smile no child should have. “She says carry on.”

            Kel almost rolled her eyes but managed to catch herself, however alarming it was that Shakith seemed to be developing a sense of humour.

            “Does she? She’s been talking to Lord Sakuyo, I bet. But carry on it is, so I must go and change.”

            Making her way up the roadway wasn’t easy, everyone wanting to congratulate and rejoice with her, but Junior took it on himself to clear her path and small as he was griffins did have a cry even excited mortals found hard to ignore. At the gatehouse Lalasa and Tomas were in a spot with a perfect view, Jacut and several men preventing anyone from crowding them. After a more welcome embrace they went to Kel’s rooms, leaving Tomas with the younglings to enjoy the spectacle.

            The skirts of Kel’s green kimono were getting crowded but Lalasa had managed to add, outside creamy blue-grey distaff and golden ducal borders, a silver one declaring her a countess in her own right. What the precedent was Kel didn’t know but Thayet had been adamant and it didn’t look ill. The interrupted conversation about Guild and Maids occupied them while Lalasa added a little make-up and helped Kel into all the layers. Yuki came by on the same mission, and though she’d given up trying to persuade Kel to full face-paint had an _omamori_ for luck and prosperity. Tying it on Kel’s wrist she felt the invisible poison bracelet and raised elegant eyebrows.

            “You still wear it, Keladry- _chan_?”

            “Oh yes, and the children. I don’t think about it much but I’m not ready to relax yet, Yuki. There are a lot of strangers around.”

            “I suppose. But don’t you take it off to sleep? Or with Domitan?”

            “When we’re in bed he’s more interested in what he _can_ see, Yuki.”

            Their laughter was interrupted by Kel’s mother, also in kimonos and floating with excited pleasure. Having missed her middle sisters’ weddings Kel had never as an adult seen her Mama in mother-of-the-bride mode and her sentiment was contagious. Dom had assuaged a great need and evidence of his desire hadn’t left Kel able to continue thinking of herself as she had for so long, but the fact of handfasting was still astonishing to her innermost self, now she came to it. Investiture as a countess was less important to her—a whim of Jonathan’s formalising what she’d been doing for two years, though she knew it was more—but to her mother it was an ultimate vindication that made Kel wonder, not for the first time, how many insults she’d endured over the years as The Girl’s dam. She took the chance to apologise and offer her thanks for everything but her mother laid a finger to her lips.

            “Shh, sweeting. Still always apologising. You’re right there were always fools as rude as—I was going to say Scanrans but that won’t do any more, will it? Nor as rude as stormwings. We’ll have to think of something, but I really don’t care because I’m laughing at every one of them today. And just look at you, with all those borders!” As rude as conservatives, Kel thought, and some at least weren’t alive to be laughed at but that didn’t matter now. “Come on, sweeting—your father’s waiting with Tobe and Irnai, and immortals have rounded up the people who need to be in place. Did you arrange that?”

            Kel grinned. “I did, or we’d still have been trying to collar them at dusk. It’s much harder to say no to an ogre or basilisk. Or Quenuresh.”

            Ebony took its place, relaying events to darkings spread out on the wall above the thousands of Scanrans and others still on the roadway or in the field, and they went. Her father was also sentimental though his pious streak showed in a consciousness of divine blessings. Bizarrely but undeniably His Grace’s consent was required for his underage daughter to accept creation as a countess, though not to declare clanchieftaincy, and she took his arm as they emerged into daylight.

            The immortals _had_ been efficient, as had the military, and the main level was as orderly as it was full. The companies, tightly packed, allowed royal family, King’s and New Hope Council, and Scanrans—including all Rathhausakers and prisoners-on-oath—to form up before them, with immortals in their usual place, Bonedancer perched on Quenuresh, Kawit looming behind, and Kel’s kin and friends on the far side of the shrines. With so many soldiers to accommodate and all livestock save chickens pastured up valley, Kel had had the railings removed from the pens and the stone scrubbed, adding a large area, but even so the companies reached back around the bonfire to the green and were surrounded by civilians, New Hope’s children to the fore. Other visitors, noble or common, had to organise themselves, some opting for alures or shelf, with Peachblossom, Jump and the sparrows, Alder, Hoshi, Butter, and other Daine-touched horses. Every gable seemed to boast a stormwing; on the most northerly steel wings glittered in sunlight spilling over the fin. The shrines were still in shadow and the icelights blazed.

            She and her father walked slowly, giving her mother, Yuki, Lalasa, Tobe, and Irnai time to scoot ahead, and slowly silence fell. It was too swamped with goodwill and rejoicing to be tense but everyone became solemn, and that was right in Kel’s book—it shouldn’t all be laughter. She thought the dead were looking on by the Black God’s grace, and today was built on unimaginable loss, whatever else had gone into it. Scanran surprise at her kimonos was evident but their stateliness was right; her path to this moment had begun at a Yamani shrine, before swords of law and duty. Without Naruko’s training and the disciplines of Imperial Court life she’d never have endured Wyldon’s, nor survived all that had happened—in so far as she _had_ , but that was the gods’ business and she no longer feared borrowed time might be abruptly withdrawn. They would not have let it come to this if that had been necessary, and the commitments she was about to make to her people and Dom would be for her natural span, and her daughter’s and granddaughter’s, on a timeway running smooth and deep after its roil.

            She mounted to the terrace beside her father, and as he continued to join the group she turned to the crowd. There was a splendid rudeness to this bit of Scanran tradition that meant she needn’t bother with preliminaries but she gentled it by smiling gravely at the Council of Eight and clanchiefs below her and gesturing them to ascend. They came in single file, each his own man, walking as warriors and proven leaders to rank themselves before the shrines, between her and the immortals.

            “Clanchiefs of Scanra, know that I, Keladry of Mindelan and New Hope, burned the clanhome of Maggur Reidarsson, Clan Rathhausak. I met him in battle, and took my glaive from his throat only that Queen Barzha Razorwing of the Stone Tree Nation might strike off his head. I did these things because he sold his liegers’ children to a _nicor_ and stole mine that he might sell them also. In the name of his liegers who survive in my care, and all of New Hope, I claim the lands of Clan Rathhausak and those between Pakkai valley and Vassa for myself and my heirs. Will you allow my claim, under _blódbeallár_ and of your grace?”

            There was no collectivity in this, and one by one they clashed arms on chests to declare they would. Only at the end did Jorvik Hamrsson add that, every man of the Council having recognised her claim, the Council knew her as a clanchief of the nation. There had been voices in favour of a venerable Scanran tradition involving a bull’s horn and kegs of mead but Kel had flatly refused, shamelessly using the association with tauroses to cover her dislike of alcohol, and there was instead a grace cup, a tradition of all mortals present. She’d had to have it made, not possessing a suitable krater, and its translucent blue stone marked with fine ripples of wood grain seemed to glow as Irnai and Tobe filled it at the spring and brought it to her. She drank, held it for Tobe to wipe, and passed it to Jorvik, who had an ironic look for the water but in turn held it for Irnai to wield the napkin. When the last man had drunk the children placed the cup before the shrines with bow and curtsey, and Tobe went to Kel’s mother, whose arm went around him, while Irnai went to stand in Zerhalm’s embrace.

            “Fellow clanchiefs”—she’d practiced, amusing Dom, but it sounded absurd—“other ceremonies press on us, but I say to you all three things. First, know the former liegers of Maggur Reidarsson, and Irnai who served you today, led by Zerhalm. They choose to become my liegers.”

            Her arm indicated them and each chief nodded acknowledgement. There probably wouldn’t have been problems but they’d fought Maggur, so it was as well to be unambiguous. What came next was trickier.

            “Second, know that while I make no presumption, nor offer any argument, Stanar Petarsson, Clan Somalkt, and all who have with him been _prisoners_ here by gods’ oath will always be welcome on my land and in my service.” The Scanran for _captive_ also meant _slave_ so she used the Tortallan word. “With peace their oaths are void. I who received them declare it so to all gods.” Chimes rang and startlement showed in Scanran faces but Kel only nodded. “I come between no man and his rightful lord, and all men’s consciences are their own. I say only, all are welcome here in honour whenever they are free to make that choice.”

            Stanar thought they’d all be alright in time, after a fight or two, but Kel wasn’t going to leave them dangling. They bowed acknowledgement of restored liberties, grinning at one another.

            “Third, know that within my lands there will be immortals of many kinds dwelling in peace under treaty. If they break their oaths they will face my justice, and so will any mortal who breaks my peace. I will supply the Council with the names of all immortals abiding under my protection, and they will harm none unless hands are raised against them.” That was all that had to be said but as they nodded, Jorvik ruefully, Ragnar with a gleeful grin, she caught Jorvik’s eye and spoke softly in Scanran. “You have a proving ground, and there will be curiosity as well as shrieks. Allow those contracts with basilisks to be signed, give it two months, and send observers? Let people see for themselves?”

            He smiled slightly. “So it begins. King Jonathan was right. Yes, we will do as you ask.”

            “Thank you.”

            There was no time for more because the Scanrans had to descend the steps and the royal family and King’s Council ascend as her father came to her side. She stood back as they formed up in turn, royals foremost; Shinko’s eyes twinkled in her rice-powder mask. Roald and Thayet were smiling, and Councillors who were friends—Alanna, Raoul, Daine and Numair, Wyldon, Padraig, Vanget and Ferghal, Imrah, Harailt, Terres and Ennor, even Turomot in his way; a great majority. Only Nond, Blue Harbour, Disart, and Macayhill were less, and after three months at New Hope any grumbles were buried deep and would stay that way.

            Jonathan came forward and the creation began. As he’d cheerfully promised the occasion called for a speech and it took all Kel’s Yamani mask not to writhe as he extolled her at ludicrous length. Beginning with a five-year-old who’d seen her mother save swords—she’d get Anders for that—he laid out her life in terms that seemed increasingly strange. At first it was interesting, because he had things to say about learning of the battle with hill bandits, fear of heights, and a moment after Lalasa’s rescue when he’d looked at a rusted staircase with wonder; but after that it was downhill save for a bit about jousting. By the time he plunged into the war she’d detached herself sufficiently to think he trod a fine line between painting his dream-picture of half the world and gods beside exalting her and remembering many had died elsewhere under other command, and a dozen borne far more responsibility. The absurd thing was that his audience seemed rapt, despite being in a position to know better, and murmured agreement at each exaggeration. Thankfully the griffins shuffled when his flights of fancy strayed too close to plain wrong; Kel thought he was aware of that and sped up, but even recent events had not been witnessed by all, and treason could not be avoided, so once again the roadway weltered, a sunbird-fletched arrow flew ahead of a storm, dragonfire lit the world, and Maggur fell, Jonathan not knowing whether to stare at the darking view before him or the reality he could see by raising his eyes.

            Then the King sought leave of His Grace of Mindelan and called Kel to kneel, beginning formal creation, in Tortallan law a mystical regnal capacity as well as an administrative procedure. She would be a Countess of the Realm as well as of New Hope, responsible to and for her liegers, sworn to defend the House of Conté as well as her own fief, and the oath was complex. That was partly her fault, for what had been a simple clause about the King’s reciprocal oath never to use the Conté Gift on her without her leave had acquired a long subclause, but at last they completed interlocking parts, and she could kiss his hand and be raised to her feet as Countess Keladry of New Hope. Uinse, standing by the flagpole, hauled and snapped, and Kel’s personal standard fluttered open, gold and silver borders glinting. Jonathan probably had more to say but didn’t get a chance as thousands shouted approval, loud enough to make glutted stormwings bate for balance, and had the sense to get out of the way as her father grasped her in a hug that squeezed away what breath she had left, then her mother was there, and her siblings, Tobe, and best of all Dom, to whom she just held on, resting in the strength of his arms, her dizzy head on his shoulder until the swollen clamour sank back to something bearable and she could risk lifting her head to kiss him. That only set everyone off again though she didn’t much care, and his eyes were laughing.

            “I think they want another speech, my lady.”

            “Are they mad?”

            “Probably, but you’re going to have to do it anyway.”

            Dom was right but she was feeling mulish and the King’s speech had to have been enough for anyone. Jonathan was grinning foolishly, arms round Thayet and Shinko, and she had only to look at the crowd for the noise to drop in invitation. Her father hadn’t made a speech at his ducal promotion and her planning hadn’t included one; nor was there anything to say everyone didn’t know already and had just been reminded of, and there ought to be a break to light bonfires so they’d burn down for leaping. Not letting go of Dom she beckoned her parents to her side.

            “New Hopers, thank you all. None of this day could have happened without you, and I will requite your trust.” They roared again and she gave them a moment, thinking embarrassment could properly be shared. “I needed you all as I will need you all in the future, but there are others to acknowledge. Were it not for my parents’ unstinting support I could not have begun on the path that led me here, and without my friends I could not have hoped to become a knight. If you would honour me, honour all. And though gods have blessed, remade, and restored me, without Dom I would not have survived.” Lauding others was much better than being applauded, and her people knew she didn’t mouth platitudes so cheers were heartfelt. Dom’s squirming was interesting; he’d have to get used to a public stage but they had years for that and the fin’s shadow was creeping across the shelf. She raised a hand, hearing his sigh of relief as the noise dropped. “And that’s enough speeches for anyone until sunset, when I’ve another vow to make and all have thanks to offer the gods who bless us so richly. We have an hour so let’s use it wisely. We need to … hold it.”

            Her gaze whipped to Kitten, snout skyward as she chattered. Kawit and Quenuresh were also looking up and Kel tipped her head, searching. At first she couldn’t see anything, then thought there might be a dark dot and Daine, eyes a far-seeing hawk’s, came over.

            “It’s not just Diamondflame, Kel. There’s three dragons spiralling down and I think one’s Rainbow.”

            “Rainbow’s the other senior dragon, with Diamondflame?” Jonathan had joined them. “Is he even bigger?”

            “No, older.” Daine was frowning. “The oldest—more than a hundred centuries. Diamondflame’s … the dominant clanchief, you could say, but Rainbow governs the Dragonmeet and speaks for all dragons by right. You’d best warn people, Kel.”

            The crowd was exclaiming as the dragons grew—a great leading shape that must be Diamondflame followed by two about two-thirds his size. Kel’s voice brought craning heads down to look at her.

            “It seems we have three more guests, people.” She smiled, projecting calm she didn’t feel. “It’ll likely be strange but nothing to fear. We need space, though. People on the green, move off it, please. Create as much room as you can. Uinse, get your men to help.”

            The crowd edged back, some climbing to the shelf, others retreating into space Uinse’s men left as they broke formation. Kel trusted dragons not to squash people they didn’t intend to; perhaps the magic that expanded buildings would take care of that too.

            “Kawit, Kitten, join me, please?” Kitten trotted over. “You’ve met Lord Rainbow?”

            _When I visited the Dragonlands. I do not know why he has come, though—I didn’t think he could still fly._

_He is blind, not crippled, Skysong. But I too am surprised, Protector. Things must be moving fast._

            “What things, Kawit?”

            _That is for them to say. Your third guest is Wingstar, by the way._

            “Thank you. How should I greet them?”

            _Politely._

            Kawit’s mindvoice was amused and Kel glared, not that there was much point. The crowd was rippling, voices rising, and she glanced up to see the dragons much closer, true size apparent as their spiral brought them overhead. Diamondflame was black against the sky, Rainbow pale, Wingstar gold and grey. Kel’s eyes caught Stanar’s and she beckoned.

            “Will you who’ve met Diamondflame reassure the Council?”

            His eyes were wide but he grinned and nodded before turning to his fellow prisoners and Jorvik. None of the clanchiefs were men to panic but coping with adult _draca_ wasn’t like coping with Kawit and Kitten, and boldness from Stanar might do good. Kel could hear his rapid Scanran declaring these were not _uhtsceatha_ and from the corner of her eye saw Jorvik brace himself, while Ragnar’s face was alight with wonder. What longer-term effects this might have on her Scanran reputation was a nice question, but the dragons were turning to glide down—and _were_ going to land on the green. A sensible voice in her head was grateful animals were pastured or they’d have more than chickens squawking. People ducked as Diamondflame passed over, wings backstroking, and air plucked at her hair and kimonos as silver claws scored turf.

            Magic rippled, space expanded, and Kel would have sworn the flagpole moved, the eastern half of the green bulging away. Rainbow landed beside Diamondflame, with care that spoke of age, and Kel’s heart beat as she saw blank eyes and dusty iridescence of green, red, blue, and yellow scales. Wingstar in turn landed neatly beyond him, the flagpole avoiding her somehow, and there simply wasn’t room for three dragons on one side of the green but there they were, wings folding and heads turning to her. She curtseyed deeply, seeing others follow. Straightening again she spread her arms and projected her voice.

            “Lord Rainbow, Lord Diamondflame, Lady Wingstar, be welcome to New Hope.”

            Rainbow’s mindvoice didn’t have the raw power of Diamondflame’s and was mild, like an old man’s reedy tenor, yet had the same impossible depths and in the profound silence Kel knew everyone heard it.

            _We thank you, Protector, for your invitation and welcome. I fear we disrupt your day yet I would speak with you and Skysong, if I may._

Kel swallowed. “Of course, my Lord. Your arrival is opportune, for we have a break before my handfasting and commending our peace to the gods, at sunset.” Her mind spun. “Lady Skysong was about to light our bonfire.”

            _Indeed?_ He might be smaller than Diamondflame but towered over the frozen people before him as he seemed to look at the wood stacked on the range. _That would be well._

            “Then if you will excuse me a moment?” She curtseyed again and he nodded regally. Could he see despite those eyes or did he sense by magic? “Alright, people, you heard. We’ll light the fire—someone please get the one in the valley lit too—and start again in an hour.” She looked down and gestured to the bonfire. “Skysong, do the honours?”

            _It is my honour._

            Kitten’s mindvoice was earnest and strong—projecting clearly, Kel thought, to show Rainbow she could mindspeak many at once. They went together, Kel nodding to her fellow clanchiefs as she passed, and the crowd squeezed aside to open their path. Uinse had men posted around the bonfire to ensure none accidentally disturbed it and they expanded their circle, people shuffling back. As Kel and Kitten neared the perimeter a voice wormed into Kel’s mind and though the dragonet wasn’t looking at her she knew this was private.

            _Do I just light it?_

            She kept her voice to a murmur. “No ceremony, but warn people first, and _extreme_ control, Kit. Burning nicely, not consumed.” She stopped, gesturing Kitten forward. The dragonet drew herself up.

            _Is everyone ready? Let the Beltane fire be lit._

            Her tail went straight out with effort as she gestured with a forepaw. A globe of fire, tiny but blazingly bright appeared, dimming as it curved through air to disappear into the base of the bonfire, which came alight with a _whoomph_ , crackling merrily as damp wood caught. Noise and light broke stillness, breath from thousands of lungs swirling rising smoke, and applause rippled, turning Kitten pink with pleasure.

            “Excellent. Thank you, Kitten, that was just right. But we shouldn’t keep Lord Rainbow or your grandsire waiting.”

            _Of course._

            Beyond the bonfire their way to the dragons was clear. In the firelight Rainbow’s scales flickered colour and Diamondflame’s golden crest gleamed. So close it was impossible to see all at once and Kel bobbed to Wingstar and Diamondflame before curtseying again to Rainbow, Kitten echoing her. “How may we serve you, my Lord?”

            Diamondflame’s mind voice was unmistakeable and her head turned. _I am sorry you had no warning, Protector, but events here have caused much discussion. Your proposal for an embassy requires a judgement of the Dragonmeet, and Rainbow felt he could not advise about what he had not tasted for himself._

 _And I have already tasted much._ Kel’s head turned back to those blind eyes. _Skysong, you are in your second decade?_

_I have fourteen years, Ancestor Rainbow._

_And you mindspeak and call fire with good control._ Rainbow shifted, stretching a forepaw, and extended silver claws, the scale above each a different colour. _I am told you know light spells._

Kitten peered and concentrated again before uttering a long trill-croak that made each claw glow in the colour of the scale above it.

            _Very good, Skysong. You grace your clan._ Kitten went bright pink again, and Rainbow’s head turned. _You were right, Diamondflame, not that I doubted—yet I cannot blame the Separatists for doing so._

_They didn’t, Rainbow—they just didn’t like the implications._

Kel wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about dragon factions but wondered what implications.

            _Perhaps so._ Rainbow’s head turned again. _Kawit, you gave Skysong only the scalegift?_

_And time, Rainbow, but she was strong enough to wake me from a sleep of twenty centuries or I could have given neither. Nor have you yet seen the strength of her light spells. She has learned more from the basilisks already than most ever will._

_So Diamondflame says. Very well._ He turned to Kel and lowered his head. He smelt of iron and she made herself stand still as it stopped only feet from her. _You have but two decades also, Protector?_

“I come of age next month, my Lord.”

            _You too grace your clan. The darkings have told us what passed here but there is much they cannot relay. Will you allow me to sift your mind? There is no harm in it but you will sense memories as they pass._

Kel stomach tightened and she let out snagged breath in a sigh. “I have too many memories, my Lord, to think remembering harmless, but you have my consent for whatever is needed.”  Why it was needed was the question, but she had half a guess and refusing didn’t seem wise.

            _Thank you._

A shimmer of magic enveloped Kel and she heard people cry out and Diamondflame’s mindvoice crackling reassurance, but even that was muffled. When she’d died her life hadn’t flashed before her eyes but it did now—all Jonathan had rehearsed and more besides. The terrors of Conal holding her from the balcony, wind plucking at her as she clutched Lalasa on Balor’s Needle, and her flight along the fin flared above the barriers containing them, and sick regret for deaths she’d caused swelled in her heart. It was her use of gifted dragonfire that concerned Rainbow—the rest only explained the cold duty twined with white rage and soul-deep nausea that had filled her, driven her, appalled her as her hands flexed again and again. _Snap, snap—no slower._ A second to burn scores of men out of existence and bring Maggur down. Her people would be safe, children could live, and poor Runt rest in peace. Rainbow’s magic vanished from her mind and she staggered, feeling an arm catch her.

            “Kel?” Daine was supporting her. “You feel squeezed but it’ll pass.”

            Kel felt as if she was floating. “I’m alright, I think.”

            “She didn’t need this now, Rainbow.” Daine sounded cross. “She’s got vows to speak and offerings to make. Couldn’t it have waited?”

            _It could not, Godborn. She has taken no more harm from dragon magic than you, and the Dragonmeet waits on answers I now have._

            “Did I pass?” Kel knew it had been a test but not what the question had been and her feet still didn’t quite seem to be touching the ground. There was amusement in Rainbow’s voice but something else as well.

            _Pass? Yes, Protector, you did. Truly, you thought of our godslain as you used our fire—and it is well. Very well. I knew those dragons and I offer you their respect with my own._

            His head drew back, turning to Diamondflame with a complex wave of thought far beyond mindvoices that Kel sensed as a blurred force, and as her feet felt stone more clearly the perception faded. Another dragon head came into view.

            _Well, you_ are _an unusual mortal, aren’t you? Greetings, Godborn._

“Hello, Wingstar. What’s going on that all this is necessary?”

            _The Dragonmeet has not been so exercised for centuries. Not everyone thought Diamondflame’s gift justified._

            “Jewelclaw and Moonwind?”

            _Among others. They only fuss because they do not have the votes._

“And Diamondflame does?”

            _He will after this. I should greet those I know, but I hope to speak to you again before we leave, Protector._

            She rose, stepping gracefully over Daine and Kel, mindvoice calling greetings to the King and Queen, and Kel tried to clear her head.

            “How long did that magic last?”

            “Only a minute or two.”

            “It felt like a lifetime.”

            “I bet. Let’s get you sitting down.”

            “I’m alright.” But she was glad of Daine’s arm as they walked in Wingstar’s wake and detoured around her to the steps, where Kel sat, careful of her kimonos but glad to let her legs tremble slowly into stillness. Dom crouched, braced leg awkwardly extended.

            “Are you alright, love?”

            “Fine.” She smiled, heart full. “I know it’s absurd but I’d love tea.”

            “Coming up.”

            Her parents wanted reassuring, and friends, and the King when he’d finished talking to Wingstar, but tea restored her and it hadn’t been bad, really—just unexpected and disconcerting, a small thing compared to events that demanded it, and turbulence was fading as she restored calm to her lake. What it _had_ done was take up time, and the hour was dwindling. No matter—if Diamondflame and Rainbow stayed muzzle to muzzle much longer she’d have to interrupt. Most people hadn’t gone anywhere and those who had were reassembling. Gathering strength she gave Tobe her mug and stood. Lalasa had a brush from somewhere—or carried one as Kel did handkerchieves.

            “There, all clean again. And dragons! Dragons come to see you handfasted! Oh my lady.”

            Kel didn’t think that was quite the case but it wasn’t the moment to argue, especially with Lalasa already inclined to vocatives. Dom was at her side and she wanted to make her vows. For a Beltane handfasting no priest was needed—Holloran was coming for the wedding—so it wouldn’t take long, and once the offering was made she could relax and try to slide away with Dom; if the gods were content, and she thought they were. Even if Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady manifested it would be to see their daughter and she could cope with that—dinner places were set in case, though the cooks’ efforts might have been disrupted by all the ceremonies. Dusk was drawing in, the fire had burned down almost enough to leap in kimonos and with Dom’s leg, and everyone seemed to be back, so on legs that seemed to be holding up again she set family and friends drifting to their own places and looked towards the dragons. The conversation had finished and Diamondflame’s eyes were on her.

            _The Dragonmeet decides, Protector, but Rainbow will urge the embassy. It means lifting the ban on visits to the mortal realm but I believe that will happen._ An odd note entered his mindvoice. _Rainbow says he sensed a question you hoped to ask. Do so after your ceremony._

            Kel blinked, disliking how much Rainbow had seen, but if the request she’d wondered if she dare make mattered, well and good. Dom was waiting, the crowd had stilled because she was facing them. For what she hoped was the penultimate time today she spread her arms.

            “No explanations needed for this one, people, but there’s one thing I’ll say. His Majesty tried to make me out more than mortal, and you have that habit too. Yes, I was sent back by the Black God—as a mortal, a woman with needs and fears. Don’t ever think me more—or Dom can remind you of the truth he’ll be living with.” She reached a hand to him and he took it. “I expect this is all out of order but I don’t much care—there’s no protocol for this so we’re suiting ourselves.”

            They turned into each other’s arms and kissed, ignoring the cheery racket, and went together to the shrines, bowing and curtseying to Lord Mithros and the Goddess before facing Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady—gods with the passion to marry and proper sponsors of any Beltane feast. Kel doubted anyone could hear their vows of honest trial of love with intent to marry—redundantly, as the wedding was scheduled, but very satisfying all the same. More kisses were necessary, but sunset was close and the prospect of ending the day some compensation for parting from Dom. He limped to his men, and she saw him receive smiling congratulations before she lifted the krater that had served as a grace cup and faced the crowd once more.

            “So. We have pleased ourselves and now we must see if we please the gods. Enough blood has been shed in this war for all our lifetimes, yet we will shed a few drops more in token of the blessing we ask.”

            Duke Baird came forward with one of Amourta’s egg feathers and while she held the krater one-handed carefully lanced her finger, letting a drop of blood fall into the bowl before a flicker of green fire sealed the cut. The King contributed a drop, as did Roald, for the treaty was not limited to one reign, Yuki for all Yaman had given Kel and New Hope, and a surprised Ryokel for the future she’d grow up in. The Scanrans had all wanted to, blood making more sense to them than water, but she’d limited it to Jorvik and Ragnar; then Zerhalm and Fanche for the civilians of New Hope, Connac for its soldiers, Brodhelm for those assigned, a veteran for volunteers, and Sir Voelden for knights; he had looked at her in amazement when she’d asked him. Dom’s blood as much as her own would flow in her heirs, and then immortals—Quenuresh for spidrens, bending to allow a _very_ cautious Baird to nick her cheek and take a steaming silver drop while Bonedancer clacked, Kuriaju and Var’istaan for their kinds, and Amourta completing the pattern, for all immortals’ hope of younglings and the stormwings’ complex rejoicing in the peace they existed to promote. Silver streaked the dark pool in the krater as light faded. Kel walked along the shrines, curtseying to each and raising the krater high, then returned to stand before Lord Weiryn and the Green Lady. Her voice echoed from the cliff.

            “High Ones, we have striven in all faith. You know what this offering represents—a treaty between realms, New Hope’s future, and my own, blended in blood we offer gladly and hope will be the last we need shed. If you would correct us, we ask you do it now, that we may know we err, or if we do your will, bless us that we may go forward in peace.”

            She let a drop of mingled bloods fall on the front of the double niche and set the krater before it, then backed away. As she stepped over the trough chimes began, ringing across the valley, and flaring silver shone redly through her hand as she shielded her eyes. Turning her head from the glare she could see people with hands raised as they went to their knees, buildings starkly white. Weiryn was being even worse than last time, and Daine wasn’t by her side to tell him off, but at least the show would set an impressive seal on the day; even Scanrans had gone to their knees, and the King. Only immortals seemed untroubled, but intent. The glare was fading and she turned back to the shrines, her welcome for Daine’s parents freezing on her lips.

            They were there, antlers towering and green dress swirling in a breeze Kel couldn’t feel, but so were _all_ of them save Lord Gainel, and her eyes flicked left and right as panic rose. The Goddess and the Black God were at least familiar, but none could be mistaken. Lord Mithros’s armour glimmered, and though he bore no shield the strong black face was that of the statue in Corus with living eyes. Shakith’s dead ones were blank as Rainbow’s, face sharp as any hawk’s, and Lord Sakuyo’s eyes were on her, laughter tumbling stars in their depths. Her knees were buckling into belated obeisance when Weiryn’s strong hand caught her arm, that impossibly rich voice rolling out of him.

            “You have prayed and knelt enough, Keladry. Stand now to let my brothers and sisters see you in your flesh and hopes.”

            When he turned her to face Lord Mithros she wanted to let her head drop and look away but the god’s eyes held her, turning her inside out as intimately as Rainbow. The blood she’d shed cascaded around her and her honour in battle let it run past, hope rising above slaughter while silver glittered everywhere. Pressure increased, doubts beating at her, and she felt herself squaring her shoulders, for if she had failed somehow she was sorry and angry, but not ashamed. It eased and Lord Mithros regarded her gravely as his hand reached for hers, drawing her forward; his lips burned cold on her forehead and energy flooded her in a tingling gift. His voice was deeper than the ocean, its fury of battle distant.

            “You have achieved much, Keladry of New Hope, and may achieve more. Nor have you erred, though you faced Chaos as well as mortal neglect. All your hopes have my blessing.”

            Weiryn’s hand turned her again. The Goddess was easier but her kiss just as cold, sending shivers though Kel as heat gathered in her belly. The words were mindspoken to her alone, and the hounds silent.

            “I rejoice in your healing, daughter. My gifts do no good unused. Go now to Shakith, and do not fear.”

            The hawk face was intense, blind eyes saw all, and in her amazement Kel thought they looked also at Rainbow beyond her, then at her alone. It wasn’t like Lord Mithros’s examination—it was of the timeway that could be seen through her, her future, and there was no kiss but that hawk’s scream that set bones trembling though godmagic protected her. As its echo faded Weiryn’s hand fell from her shoulder—this she could face unaided, though he accompanied her as she managed to walk back across the goddesses and Mithros to the Black God. The oval beneath his hood was dark but as she stood there she could see his face again, so beautiful and young, so piercingly sad. The fathomless, silvered eyes were calm, the voice again private.

            “You have honoured my gift, Protector. Those you mourn rejoice in your triumph. I will always hear your prayers.”

            There was again no kiss but as his face faded from her view his hand rose to cup her cheek in benison, as she would touch an ogre or spidren she could not embrace. The hand was as young as the face, unspotted and smooth, and the ages of her dead flashed in Kel’s mind with knowledge it was war that kept him youthful, smooth-skinned as Merric or Seaver or Quinden; his touch gave her calm as unruffled as a lake’s indifferent to whom it drowned. Weiryn’s hand rested again on her shoulder, turning her, and laughter boomed, out of all proportion to the old man who regarded her with a crooked smile, eyes full of stars. Who else could hear him she had no idea.

            “Ah daughter, we meet at last, amid the noblest jest of an age. Truly you are my Blessed.” Old, long-fingered hands grasped hers and joy surged. “And truly the best jests catch the jester.”

            She had to stoop for his kiss, swaying forward as he rose, and his lips blazed with heat, setting her blood in a fizzing riot for joy of life and passion, laughter beyond tears when you still lived, whoever died. Desire curled in her belly and she wanted to dance, spin, to rise above Dom and cry out her pleasure, but Weiryn’s hand anchored her to the ground as the feelings flared away. Silver was building around Lord Sakuyo and the Black God, and Shakith too was glimmering; light swelled and faded and they were gone, but Weiryn and the Green Lady were still there, with Lord Mithros and the Goddess. Kel felt _wonderful_ , as if she were striding loose-limbed to glaive practice with the sweat of love still on her, ready to flow into a pattern dance. She was peripherally aware that the crowd’s obeisance had become rapt attention and of immortals’ faces as they watched, but her attention was on the gods as she came to the centre and Lord Weiryn stood again by his Green Lady. All of them regarded her. Free to move she dropped a curtsey at last, feeling the smoothness in her thighs as she dipped and rose in a single movement.

            “High Ones, the Beltane fire awaits. Will you join us in celebrating our New Hope?”

            The warcries of Lord Mithros’s voice were muted. “We will, Keladry, following you and your mate.”

            His eyes moved beyond her, silver and stars, and though it meant turning her back to them she spun, kimonos flaring despite the stiff material, to hold out her hand to Dom. She didn’t have to call him though his face was taut with nerves as well as amazement as he limped slowly forward, negotiating the steps to her side.

            “One moment.” The warcries were audible again, arms clashing, and they turned. A hand shining with power rested on Dom’s shoulder and something like regret wove among the sounds. “Your wound was a mortal deed, my son, and may not be healed as your mate’s injury and death by Chaos, and yet—” Swiftly the god stooped, and his other hand cupped Dom’s leg as silver flared and was absorbed. He straightened. “You have fought faithfully, Domitan of Masbolle. Your wound remains but will not trouble you tonight, and in days to come you may find it eased.”

            Kel knew just how strange divine power felt set to work within one, and from the look on Dom’s face the god’s kindness might undo him as the pain of his wound had never been able.

            “Thank you, my Lord. You are all grace. Dom, time to go.” His eyes met hers and they swung, her voice rising. “We’re jumping the fire, people, and gods with us, so you’d best clear the way and fall in behind.”

            They were scrambling aside as she and Dom took measured, even paces to the steps, looked at one another again, wild light kindling in their eyes, and were off, kimono skirts as irrelevant as space to dragons, brace as unimportant as Rainbow’s blindness. Momentum from the steps set them running, and silver curved overhead to blaze the bonfire up, but there was no harm in its flames. They left the path, rounding the playground to the fire, seeing dragons sharply upright, and the light was in their faces. But there was light behind too, and the gods’ silver shadows preceded them, visible against the flames. They were in perfect unison and leaped together, careless of spiking red and silver that let them pass, soaring free of stone for a timeless moment as heat bathed her legs, and touched down together beyond. Their hands parted as they swung round and met in the clap with which the first couple through Beltane flames greeted whoever followed, Kel’s right palm against Dom’s left, inner arms encircling one another. Weiryn and the Green Lady followed, pre-eminent on this night in the place of their major shrines, and flames stroked them as they burst through, faces radiant and laughter ringing. When feet met stone again it quivered and gods spun into position alongside her, hands meeting in a thunderclap matched by thousands who clapped in time, echoes booming. Lord Mithros and the Goddess leaped and landed and the ground shook but the air was full of blossom, its scent overpowering, and Lord Sakuyo’s laugh boomed as stormwings sneezed, swirling petals.

            The flames subsided behind the gods and Kel saw others coming, Jonathan and Thayet, Roald and Shinko, her parents, Anders and Vorinna, Innes and Tilaine, Fanche and Saefas, Neal and Yuki, and to her wonder St’aara and Var’istaan, leaping as she didn’t know basilisks could, tails draped over outer paws and inner ones clasped. Even the griffins leaped, fire in the firelight, and more couples than there had been at the start of the day, sharing the ritual of promise. Scanrans were clapping, braids swinging, and so were all who weren’t leaping—even Turomot and Nond. Ogres made thunderous bursts of sound, and stormwings clashed gleaming wings, centaurs stamped, but at last it ended; an elderly Tirrsmont couple hopped dwindled embers with laughter at the foolish joy of it, and spun to clap with all one last time before silence trembled over ragged breaths and dissolved into a vast cheer wild with hounds and war. Echoes crashed from fin and cliffs to roll down the valley, dissolving into the air and woods, and Kel grasped the quiet though Sakuyo’s laughter was thundering again somewhere.

            “High Ones, Your many Majesties, everyone—we’re late for dinner and if they’ve kept their heads for the last hour the cooks will never forgive us for being any later. May I lead on?”

            There was more amusement than war in Lord Mithros’s voice. “Why not, Sakuyo’s Blessed? It is never good to distress cooks.”

            She couldn’t help herself, laughing aloud at the mortal wisdom, and took Dom’s arm to head for the messhall. As they entered godlit pillars flared, stippling walls with all the colours there were, and candles burst alight. The gods knew—or perhaps didn’t—what would happen to the seating, the one part of the day on which she’d let Master Oakbridge labour, but he could hardly complain at these guests, and maybe gods and dragons had more in common than she’d though for there seemed to be places for everyone. The fragmented memories of her first divine dinner must be an effect of gods’ for this evening too splintered into silver fragments; Kel could never remember what she’d eaten, only that it smelt mouth-watering and lived up to its promise, nor quite who’d said what to whom, only that conversation flowed.

            It didn’t at first, small talk with gods being awkward, but Weiryn and Sarra were more interested in being grandparents than gods and Daine’s example, with Sarralyn’s gurgles and Ryokel’s when Yuki shyly presented her, slowly spread. People were so eager to talk about their astonishing day even gods couldn’t inhibit them, and after Alanna enquired after the Cat, bringing a smile to the Goddess’s face, Kel brought it down to commoner interests by asking Mithros if there were anything in mortal understandings of the warrior he’d like to see change. There didn’t seem to be, but he backed the requests she’d made of the elemental, observing the problem applied equally to female warriors unreasonably loathing men, and at male surprise added dryly that there _were_ nations where women were dominant in arms. If it hadn’t been him saying so Kel thought Disart and Wyldon might have protested disbelief, but it was, and she and Alanna had a hard time not laughing.

            The Scanrans did well, wide-eyed and pinching themselves but not to be outfaced by gods any more than dragons. Ragnar, breathing deeply, confessed frankly that piety had declined in Scanra, scoured away by war, and asked guidance in restoring it in Somalkt. It opened wider talk of how mortals should live, as if all present were commanders the gods might send forth to implement their song. It wasn’t piety they cared about, if there was respect, but integrity, sweat, and truth, every mortal’s effort within their communities; as they had care of all, balancing need and ruth, soul and community, one and another nation, so all should balance care of themselves and duty in the world. A man—no names were mentioned—might claim necessity beyond themselves but their self-regard overweened, as their acts showed. Ritual didn’t matter either, only what it expressed, and Mithros turned to Kel with eyes that made her wonder how irony and stars could get along.

            “Keladry shines in this. Her prayers are always that she may survive in others’ service, for courage to endure that she may not fail those depending on her. For herself alone she asks nothing, deserving much.”

            “We’ve been trying to do something about that.”

            Mithros smiled. “Giving must be earned too, Jonathan of Conté, and she has taken what she needed, harming only whom she must to save her own. It is well enough.”

            After that Kel let others talk, turning his words in her heart, and when she led the way out to the mild night again, crowds and an impromptu band falling silent to see what would transpire, she murmured requests to Dom, Thayet, and the Goddess. Taking Dom’s arm and gesturing Jonathan, Roald, and Shinko to follow, Thayet led them towards the rebuilt bonfire. Dom had the band strike up a traditional Beltane dance and the spectacle of royal couples beginning steps pulled attention even from gods. Moving to the side as the procession from the messhall streamed past Kel looked at Lord Mithros and the Goddess.

            “You said I harmed only whom I must, my Lord, yet among them were many who would have meant no harm had they not been coerced. Mortals must answer for themselves, and have, but I grieve for the giants. And the tauroses—harnessed to mortal wrong yet in their natures a bane to women.” Another breath. “They have served beyond themselves as my skullroad. May it not earn them your grace?”

            Mithros was still but the Goddess rested a hand on his arm. “I have asked you before of the tauroses, brother, as have others.”

            “I cannot unmake them, sister, and their numbers dwindle.”

            Kel almost reached out too. “You could give them a choice, my Lord.”

            “How so?”

            “I am told they have no mates.”

            “They were created male, long ago.”

            “Then create some female, for whom they are not death. Let me be the last mortal to die of their unanswerable need.”

            Mithros sighed. “It is not so simple. They came of a mortal’s bitter dream, as stormwings did. Where will a dream of mates for them arise?”

            “Cannot Lord Gainel weave it of my hope and experience? And of Lalasa’s, surviving to find a mate’s care? It isn’t being a woman that makes tauros rape fatal, but being mortal. Cannot your power, and the Graveyard Hag’s with Lord Gainel’s, together do what is needed? Even if it must be minor goddesses who return as swiftly as Lord Weiryn and the Bear god when they kill one another in sport, to visit chastisement upon their assailants? When I died it was no sport yet I am here as those who died with me are not. It cannot be right.”

            Kel became aware of the Goddess looking as if she swallowed laughter and Kitten looking up approvingly. Mithros shook his head.

            “At least you are more polite than the dragonet.”

            “She has a point, brother. Gainel is willing and the Hag may find it a better jest than she has ever thought the tauroses.”

            _I am not rude unless you deserve it. And I am come to say Grandsire and Ancestor Rainbow wish you to know they will respect what the timeway offers. They ask if they might speak with Kel a moment because they have to return to the Dragonmeet._

Both faces were suddenly remote, and the hounds in the Goddess’s voice. “Respect what the timeway offers? Perhaps we should hear this, brother. Attend your guests, Protector.”

            Kel wasn’t sure what had happened and went towards the dragons struggling with horrified irony that she’d managed both to imitate Kitten in telling off Lord Mithros and share his exasperation with impertinent interruptions. And maybe not so impertinent, for it meant asking the question Diamondflame had encouraged; nor were dragons necessarily less important than gods. Halting before Rainbow to drop a curtsey Kel was aware of Weiryn and the Green Lady behind her as well as Mithros and the Goddess, Rainbow’s blind eyes on them.

            _Gods._

            “Dragons.”

            Rainbow’s head dropped. _Protector, I would know on what terms you seek our embassy._

            “On those acceptable to you, my Lord. My only requirement is that peace be kept and all beings respected. With so many kinds dwelling here it should be a place to consider all co-operation may achieve.”

            _Our kits might come as Guild apprentices then? Subject to its rules and civility, answerable to the Dragonmeet for their conduct?_

“That sounds right, though authority to deal with minor lapses of conduct directly might be sensible.”

            _It is not authority but power_. The old mindvoice was amused. _But I take your point and will let you know what the Dragonmeet decides._

            “Thank you, my Lord.” This was it, and she turned to Diamondflame. “My question is an impertinence, my Lord, but you were so kind before, with the landslip, I must dare it. I need to build a bridge, over the Vassa, and though I believe it possible with mortal and basilisk magic, and ogre skill, it would be much swifter with dragonmagic.” She smiled hope. “When of your grace I sat astride your neck you said you did not mind labour. Would you mind more?”

            His mindvoice was as neutral as Rainbow’s had been greeting the gods and her heart sank. _Let me be clear, Protector. You ask for dragons’ help in constructing a bridge?_

            “I do, my Lord. I am sorry if I offend.”

            _You do not._ Neutrality was still there but his eyes were on Mithros. _Wingstar and I will help. Where would you bridge the Vassa?_

Exaltation warred with uncertainty at whatever was happening. “The North Bend of the border, where I crossed going to Rathhausak.”

            _That is well. When should we attend you there?_

Kel’s head spun. “At the ides of May? We have much to prepare.”

            _That also is well. We go, Protector, offering congratulations as you walk the timeway’s new course._

There were meanings here she couldn’t begin to guess and the gods were immobile. “Thank you, my Lord. Do you need space to depart?”

            _The walls suffice. Until the ides._

            All the dragons rose and she stepped back. How the gods had done so she hadn’t a clue but they weren’t where they had been, the way clear for the dragons to walk carefully to the wall, uncoiling to stretch to the palisade. They flowed over, Rainbow careful but sure and strong, and were gone; their spiral brought them back over New Hope before they were lost in the dark. Kel sighed and blinked, for Lord Mithros and the Goddess were also gone; Weiryn and the Green Lady regarded her, Daine grinning between them, Sarralyn on hip and Kitten at her feet.

            “Good work, Kel. Kit says you did a fine job making Mithros listen.”

            Weiryn smiled but his eyes held no humour and stars blazed. “It is more than that, daughter, though how much more we wait to see.” Stars dimmed. “I agree tauroses should be dealt with. They abuse the hunt.”

            Weiryn didn’t seem angry and Sarra was smiling. Safer ground seemed an excellent idea and he’d raised the subject. “I hadn’t thought of it so, my Lord, but they do. I heard a fine story of the Hunt, from an old man who lives near Steadfast and had the tale of his father. He would not name you in the telling, though.”

            “I know that teller and he is wise, as his father before him.”

            “I found him so. Your hounds must be wonderful animals.”

            Amusement drifted into his voice. “You think so?”

            “Oh yes. Never to miss or mistake their quarry? Like your bow.”

            “You used it well, Keladry.” A note of regret joined amusement. “I would bring the hounds to meet you but I am yet bound to my lands.”

            “Are they bound also? I expect it’s as silly as offering you food but they’d be welcome to run in my woods. I have an awful lot of them now.”

            “They are inquisitive and hard to deny.”

            “Harder than griffin and dragon kits?”

            “No.” Amusement spilled into a laugh. “But the Hunt to roam these woods, where game teems with the animal gods’ blessings? You don’t know what you offer, Keladry.”

            “But I know what I want, my Lord—a fief where those guilty of any crime to attract the Hunt face it swiftly, and honest travellers pass safely. I will have to hunt that game hard to feed the guards I will need. And New Hope is your major shrine.”

            The laugh became a thoughtful look, stars dancing. “Free run of your woods for guardianship of the road? You have a … knack the timeway must have seen. There is precedent for such a bargain, long ago. Wuodan might care for it.”

            He raised a glowing hand and silver expanded. Kel had to close her eyes until the dazzle faded, and she knew what she’d see when she opened them. The black hound was _enormous_ , shoulders level with her breast; its head was turned to Weiryn but when it swung to look at her its eyes were embers, gledes that could turn to flame at any moment. Nostrils flared, making her think of Quenuresh. She curtseyed and a voice pierced her mind, other than the dragons’ but no less potent.

            _You are courteous, mortal, and your offer interesting. I will run your woods this night to smell what is there._

            “With all blessings, Lord Wuodan.”

            _I am no mortal lord. Wuodan will do. Weiryn spoke of one here who knows his hounds._

            It wasn’t a question. “Ebony, do you know where Wyldon is?”

            “Eastern alure. Watching.”

            Kel picked out the lean figure, beckoning. “Lord Wyldon of Cavall, Wuodan. He is coming directly.”

            _I see him_.

            Hounds weren’t interested in ceremony and it was gone, loping towards the stairs Wyldon was descending. People got out of its way but today a hound the size of a pony was only one more wonder. Kel would have liked to see the meeting but Weiryn was speaking, voice thoughtful.

            “A definite knack. The ides will be interesting.”

            Daine shook her head. “Da, stop being mysterious. It’s annoying.”

            “Is it, daughter? Yet we must all wait, and it is no mortal business.”

            “Could have fooled me. Can we sit down, please? Here.”

            She plonked Sarralyn into his arms and Kel smiled at them all. “I know your time together is short. Go and enjoy it.” And gods be thanked—literally, but some other time—they did, walking towards the terrace where Numair and Kawit waited. Wyldon had met Wuodan on the steps, Jonathan and Thayet were dancing, and her parents and siblings, Fanche and Saefas, Neal and Yuki; Baird watched with Ryokel. Dom was there too, eyes on her, and dancing seemed an excellent idea.

            Getting away wasn’t easy, but after enough dances to remind her it had been a _very_ long day and several attempts she enlisted Quenuresh, and a cloaking spell allowed them to reach the caves. People were wonderful, family more so, and dragons and gods a bounty of it, but just now she wanted to be alone with Dom. He had to solicit the discretion of the watch sergeant keeping an eye on the stables but then they were in the corridor outside his room and a long, sweet kiss became imperative. Kimonos weren’t conducive to anything but proper removal, so Dom reached back to open the door and they went in. Kel had a second to be grateful for the design of kimonos before Lord Sakuyo turned from studying a waving Yamani cat she’d given Dom. His eyes were laughing but his finger was across his lips and they stood mute while he crossed to them, voice as quiet as it could be loud.

            “My brother is right, of course, and generous by his lights—but such a sobersides. And you are a treasure among my Blessed, whose road has been long. So while he is having such difficulty finding his shield—” He knelt, hands cupping Dom’s leg, and something that wasn’t silver glimmered around his fingers. His face was full of mischief. “—I may persuade his power not to depart as he thinks it should. The longer it stays, the stronger the effects, and he has much to think on, thanks to the dragons, so he will be splendidly distracted. And a Beltane blessing—not only allowable but encouraged—disguises things more.” He laid graceful old hands on their shoulders and heat pooled in Kel’s loins, overflowing. “I leave you to enjoy it.” He looked at Dom. “Just remember to limp convincingly on the ides. I’ll see myself out, daughter.”

            The door closed behind him and Kel’s eyes met Dom’s, where surprise and confusion were being burned away by desire that made her shiver. “Any more surprises up your sleeve?”

            “I should take these kimonos off and see.” It was such a relief to stop talking.


	31. Unison

**Chapter Thirty-One — Unison**

_2 – 16 May_

 

Having been up late people were not pleased to be woken early but Kel was brimming with energy. She had removed her pregnancy charm with her kimonos and if last night hadn’t done the trick nothing would; perhaps it was an after-effect of gods for New Hope seemed to shimmer with life too, the grass studded with tiny white flowers that hadn’t been there before that blossom fell—of which there was no sign. Lord Sakuyo had undertaken his own housekeeping and she had a bridge to build. Fortunately basilisks and ogres weren’t prone to hangovers and she needed to see them first. Var’istaan and St’aara weren’t in evidence but others were, with Kuriaju and Samiaju, so she set about explaining and while they thought about it Amiir’aan went for Geraint and Numair. The latter was very grumpy until Kel presented him with tea strong enough to stand a spoon in and asked him how he’d measure the depth of the Vassa, and how much weight he and Harailt could lift for how long. By then Geraint was there and, however bemused, a morning person who liked a problem, so conversation was soon humming.

            What would take time was moving stone, and that meant all hands, hooves, and wagons, starting now. New Hope had accumulated an enormous amount of ashlar but stone was heavy, and the last miles of the trail to the Vassa would need widening and more. The King could start picking up that responsibility today, with a message to Giantkiller, and all these guests, having had their supper and then some, could now sing for it. Kel rubbed her hands, made sure cooks were at work, sent half the duty guard to knock on doors and went to the king’s herself. His guards were disinclined to stop her, and Thayet was delightfully tousled when she answered a rap and found herself handed two mugs of tea.

            “Breakfast in half-an-hour.”

            “Eh?”

            “Breakfast. Bridges to build, messages to send by royal authority.”

            A mumble within made Thayet withdraw for a moment. “Jon says send them yourself, whatever they are.” There was another mumble. “What are they?”

            “Road-widening, soldiers, Giantkiller.”

            “Send them. See you at lunch. Maybe.” A pause. “Thanks for tea.”

            Kel tutted at such somnolence but no-one else she needed was in a position to turn over and go back to sleep. Among Vanget’s assortment of spellmirrors, all hanging with her own, was one connected to Giantkiller, so as well as despatching a written order she could anticipate it. The duty officer was taken aback but she was briskly clear about what was needed and promised the first loads of broken stone and a basilisk would be where they were needed by tomorrow, so crews had better be ready. While she was about it she summoned the western building team from Mastiff—Geraint was here anyway, and they at least would know what they were doing. Vanget came in while she was talking, raising eyebrows in query.

            “Bridge-building. I need the track from the Frasrlund road to the Vassa at North Bend passable for wagons.”

            “Do you?” He frowned. “What _was_ all that with the dragons, Kel?”

            “No idea, but they agreed to help with the bridge and will be back on the ides, so that’s the priority.”

            She wanted him on her side and could use his logistical skills so she steered him to breakfast, explaining the while. He shook his head often, as if it hurt, but was smiling by the time the messhall had filled up and she rose to issue strings of orders. Observers from Riversedge and Bearsford found themselves on wagon-commandeering expeditions home; wagoneers went off to harness teams and equip as many horses, ponies, and mules as possible to carry stone; a river-sounding, brush-clearing group began to assemble what it needed; Laar’aan and Samiaju went to brief basilisks and ogres on what they had to do; and when a wild-haired Ragnar, who seemed to have slept by the bonfire, if at all, mentioned the surviving Scanran wagons and mule-teams Kel promptly sent him to roust them out, regretting anew the mules she’d killed. The initial choke-points would be corral, roadway, and main level: Dom had the first, Uinse’s men were best equipped to manage the second, and she set Vanget on the third. Her task was a survey of how much stone was available, and once she’d made estimates of piles in the valley, slabs of finstone remaining where they’d fallen, stocks within New Hope, and sacks of rubble piled by the gatehouse she went to join the design meeting and expand ideas. It would depend how deep the Vassa was, and how deeply sediment lay over rock, but unless it was worse than anyone thought possible—and Geraint knew about such things—there was more than enough material.

            By the time Jonathan and Thayet put in an appearance, in late morning, the first laden wagons were half-way down the valley, behind the river-sounding group. Their Majesties blinked, surveyed the bustle, and found Kel with Samiaju and other ogres on the terrace, building dry-stone piers and arches with finstone fragments. Kel smiled cheerily, opening her mouth, and Jonathan held up a hand.

            “No, I don’t want to know just yet. Next week, maybe. I’m still trying to cope with the fact that seven gods turned up yesterday and you invited four to dinner. Is Tortall still here?”

            “It is, sire. It’s just moving about a bit.”

            “Oh good. Is there anything I really need to know now?”

            Kel considered. “You want to be at North Bend on the ides.”

            “I do? What am I doing?”

            “Seeing a bridge built and opening it when it’s done.”

            “Of course I am. I always do at ides. Anything else?”

            “Great North Road. All repair teams, here, soonest.”

            “Gods.”

            “Not sure, sire. I’ve no idea what they were about, but it’s not mortal business—just god-and-dragon business that’s been, um, collocated with ours by the timeway. I think.”

            Jonathan closed his eyes. “It wasn’t a question, Keladry. Never mind. What are all the road teams doing here?”

            “Fixing anything that needs it from Bearsford to the Greenwoods, widening and strengthening the Greenwoods trail to good double-wagon width, and fixing the Frasrlund road to North Bend. I already have people working on that last bit but their job is speed—your people need to do culverts and flatten gradients.”

            “Culverts. Right. Can I have breakfast now?”

            “I’ll take you. I’m hopeless at dry-stonework and Kuriaju knows what’s needed—it’s whether arches or cantilevers will be best.”

            “I’m sure it is. What are the Scanrans doing?”

            “Hauling stone with everyone else, or watching it happen. Ragnar was about but I left the rest of the Eight and the chiefs to sleep—they got into their mead rather, I think.”

            “Tell me. We left them going strong.”

            That explained more than it didn’t and Kel found herself liking her monarchs again by the time they were sitting on the eastern alure in sunshine, with bacon sandwiches. She’d procured a tea guaranteed to cure hangovers from Neal and they were visibly happier as it took effect. She was able to explain what would be happening and receive more coherent answers, though anything she might think about gods and dragons was still off-limits. Eventually Jonathan hauled himself up and went off to light a spellfire under the man responsible for maintaining his roads. Thayet sat back.

            “You took your moment well, except it wasn’t a moment—it was the whole negotiating fortnight, wasn’t it? You bent them all round.”

            “Did I? It all seemed horribly logical to me, Thayet.”

            “To _you_ I expect it did. Everyone else was surprised.”

            “They shouldn’t have been. Jonathan suggested I claim Rathhausak.”

            “He was teasing, Kel. He didn’t expect you to do it. Nor did Jorvik by then, though he wasn’t sure when you let Ragnar get rid of that Jonsson fellow. And after yesterday … they’re calling you a dragonlord.”

            “That’s ridiculous.”

            Thayet smiled. “Ragnar said all it really means is that you can talk to them without being roasted or eaten.”

            “Oh, _draca-eorl_. It’s in a saga—a mage who made an _uhtsceatha_ a deal. Huh. All it takes is being polite, so far as I can see.”

            “More than that, I think. What was that dragonmagic about, by the way? You were as white as a sheet afterwards.”

            “Was I? Rainbow needed to know about my using Diamondflame’s gift so he had a look to see what I remembered. Not a good memory. But I regretted necessity enough, apparently, and though there’s dissent in the Dragonmeet they seemed to think young dragons will be allowed to come as Guild apprentices.”

            Thayet laughed with wide eyes. “Apprentice dragons? That’s …”

            “Going to be very helpful establishing the Guild’s base here as a … well, a university, really, but I don’t want academic ranks and fussing, more a place to work on practical solutions.”

            “Like bridges.”

            “Exactly. But I’ll need a dean, I suppose, for the teaching side. I might see if Kawit’s interested, but there should be a mortal deputy. Any ideas? You know priests and people at the City of the Gods.”

            “You have them all in a tizzy so an offer to anyone will be a cat among pigeons. Let’s see. What qualities do you need?”

            They spent an interesting half-hour discussing it. Patrons were mentioned, and as Kel’s instinct for Roald and Shinko sat well with Thayet they got into the reversionary interest and the likely concerns of His Imperial Majesty in all this. Kel couldn’t imagine what effect news of Lord Sakuyo’s public manifestation would have in Yaman, but his private one gave her confidence there wouldn’t be anything of serious concern. She was also happy to agree she and Dom should visit the Islands when things settled down—she wanted very much to thank the god in one of his major shrines and to show Dom the other land she loved; Neal and Yuki were due a trip as well, and both royal couples, so words might profitably be had with Prince Eitaro, Keiichi, and others in the wedding delegation. They were interrupted by Wyldon, looking … Kel wasn’t sure what but thought she might know why.

            “Good morning, Your Majesty, Keladry. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was asked to convey a message to the Protector.”

            “We were about done anyway, Wyldon, and I ought to be elsewhere. A message from Wuodan?”

            “Ah, yes. Astonishing creature. He says you have a deal.”

            “Excellent. No bandits here. Will Owen be happy or disappointed, I wonder. Can I borrow him, by the way? I’ve a side-trip he’ll enjoy.”

            “He’s under Vanget’s command but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

            “Um, who is Wuodan? And what does he have to do with bandits?” Thayet sounded plaintive.

            “The hound. Yay high.” Kel held her arm out. “He leads the Wild Hunt—they’re going to guard people using the road. Wyldon can explain. Excuse me, will you? I’ve got to make my first land-grant.”

            She left them, bemused looks the order of the day, and went to find Turomot and Jorvik. Neither was doing anything useful and Jorvik was another candidate for Neal’s tea, but the question of how her grants of land should be recorded for Corus and Hamrkeng was actually the sort of thing he enjoyed, and bread-and-jam for Turomot. Both agreed what happened in either capital wasn’t her business so long as grants were clear, marked on the ground, and recorded in Common so the same text could go to both Councils. Her questions for Jorvik about clanlessness took longer but she was soon on her way, this time with an eye out for clerks, wonderful clerks, with fair, round hands.

            The clerks were easy and so was most of the dictation. The opening formulae would hereafter be rote, but this time she had to decide what they were or let protocol decide for her, which threatened absurdity. _Lady Knight Keladry, Countess Commander of New Hope, Clanchief Rathhausak, Protector of the Small, Councillor to His Majesty Jonathan IV of Conté and Tortall, Dragonlord, Friend of the Stone Tree Nation and Wild Hunt_ —and whatever other lunacies anyone might dream up to thrust on her, so to clerkish disappointment but the ease of their successors she opted for a minimal version naming herself only as Lady Knight, Countess of and Clanchief New Hope. Zerhalm and his people were content Clan Rathhausak was gone, so the whole fief was New Hope, and no place of needless ink. It didn’t sound right in Scanran, but _Hléoburh_ could be ‘stronghold’ or ‘place of the protector’, and that would do fine. She still had to _grant of her grace_ , but at least it was a verb.

            Owen was trickier but Ebony tracked him to the corral, grooming Happy Two and talking to veterans. She’d meant to leave Wyldon the pleasure of telling him about the deal with the Hunt but his enthusiastic questions about the ’whopping hound’ were too much, and she wanted word spread anyway. Eyes were popping by the time she’d finished but there was enthusiasm at the thought of would-be bandits being nabbed faster than they could say ‘Down boy’, and for not having to guard a hundred miles of road. Owen was happy to be borrowed, and didn’t have to be told twice what was wanted, grey eyes sharp. Then it was back to Kuriaju and Samiaju to find cantilevers had won though it meant taller piers and longer planks than were available, so sawyers were assembled.

            The first wagons wouldn’t arrive at the Vassa until the following evening so there was no point heading north herself until the morning after, and Kel had a day to deal with other business. The King’s Council was supposed to have a Beltane session dealing with petitions, as Imbolc dealt with landgrants, but any that had been submitted were in Corus. There was nevertheless what passed for a session, largely taken up by Kel explaining what was happening, laying out plans including the Guild, and inviting them all to her wedding, smiling regret she didn’t feel when Duke Gareth, Macayhill, Blue Harbour, Disart, and Nond politely declined as they’d best be getting back to their own business. Padraig and Turomot she regretted, but insisted everyone stay to the ides. There would be dragons and perhaps gods, and if there were something to witness she’d as soon they saw it for themselves.

            There was also a meeting of New Hope’s Council with a fuller agenda. The fief had been transformed since they’d last met, expanding dramatically across Tortall and into Scanra. With peace the Tirrsmont, Anak’s Eyrie, and Goatstrack contingents were free to return home if they wanted, and many did, but besides homes raided or burned they wouldn’t get a full growing season and the Greenwoods would remain the fief’s agricultural heart this year at least. But there were silver mines to reopen, other sites to explore, how traffic on the road was to be managed and the need for waypoints or inns. It was daunting but Kel saw no reason to delay and every reason to take advantage of expertise while available, so all sorts of people found themselves co-opted—Gareth for advice on administration and finance, Turomot on law and justice, Numair, Harailt, and even the King on magical training, Imrah and Ennor on trade—and closely questioned by people and immortals who’d have related responsibilities at New Hope.

            It was also clear the enlarged fief was seriously underpopulated, and while there was every reason to think a few years would go a long way to rectifying the issue in the short-term it was acute. The escort companies would be leaving, and if Kel’s loaner companies went too resettlement of Tirrsmont and Anak’s Eyrie would be a long-term plan. One problem was solved by a mass pardon of the convict soldiers, who had impressed everyone, taking the heaviest casualties, and almost to a man wanted to settle. After Vanget had spoken to Brodhelm and Mikal their assignments were also made permanent, and though the army would decrease, to the relief of the treasury, some northern companies would be assigned to New Hope, allowing Kel to use her own to supplement the field workforce when needed.

            She’d hoped for time with her family but only managed it after dinner, with her nieces and nephews tired out. Vorinna and Tilaine had succumbed to inhibiting awe again, and had to be coaxed; even her parents and brothers showed signs of being subdued, but Dom helped by teasing her and their developing identity as a couple offered a more normal rearrangement within the family. There were Yamani matters, personal, state, and divine rolled together, and questions for Patricine and Keiichi to take back to the Islands could be developed.

            Kel set off next morning with Owen and Wolset’s squad as an escort. She’d managed to persuade Dom to come: he insisted landgrants were her domain, not a shared responsibility, but couldn’t deny this one was distinct, and with Jump and the sparrows along it was nostalgic and bittersweet. Alder took Peachblossom’s place, and Merric and Seaver were palpable absences. She’d asked Neal but he had an elderly patient whose heart hadn’t thought Beltane dancing a good idea, as well as Buri to monitor. But Tobe and Irnai were there, and a flattered Connac, shoulder as healed as it would ever be.

            Slowed by the many wagons to manoeuvre past, it was late when they reached the turnoff to the Vassa—a pleasant surprise, with the building team supplementing soldiers from Giantkiller and a great deal done. As a sergeant explained warily, the Scanrans had undertaken basic widening to get their wagon-train through for the siege, so surfacing and grading had been able to start at once and stone was already getting to the banks of the Vassa. There was one dip that needed multiple mule teams and was creating a bottleneck, and Kel used her portable spellmirror to talk to Numair and the basilisks. The dip was steep, not long, and could be filled in for the width of the new roadway with cuttings from either side and rubble. There’d be a day’s delay while it was done, but constant lesser delays imposed by the need to triple-team mules would be obviated. Things were also running smoothly at the bustling camp that had sprung up on both banks. The rope-ferry was strung, piles of stone building up, and clearance work further along than expected. For any number of reasons, from common sense to winter flooding, there was no point building low to the water, nor having approaches that needed double teams, so the bridge would cross more than the river, from the bluffs on the Scanran side to well up the gentler slope on the Tortallan. Best of all, the Vassa had been profiled and the answers were good: thought more than one-hundred-and-fifty yards wide, much of it was shallow, between twenty and thirty feet, because there were two channels twice as deep with vicious currents—but the maximal span possible between piers with the design agreed could cross both, and by bracketing them Kel could work both ways and determine how many would be needed and where piers had to go. There was also sufficient current that the shallower bed was scoured of sediment.

            The soldiers had been getting first-hand accounts of events at New Hope from wagoneers but were glad to hear other perspectives. Kel couldn’t blame them and they’d prepared an excellent meal, but once they’d eaten she and Dom crossed on the ferry to wander the Scanran side. That the land for miles in every direction was Kel’s seemed deeply peculiar to both, and she knew she’d need to have it properly surveyed, with which stormwings could help, and ride it herself, which promised to be the work of years. Meantime she was strolling, handfasted with Dom, through peaceful country she’d grimly, warily, traversed with rescued children in wartime, plodding on leaden legs, hopeless desire suppressed; the contrast was bubbling excitement and a jangling sense that they ought to be wary butting against knowledge they needn’t be. Canoodling in enemy territory in wartime was horribly failing comrades; finding a clearing beyond a rise a few score yards off the Vassa road and after a long, kindling look taking advantage of its privacy was being considerate to one’s fellow campers wanting an undisturbed evening. The night was clear and moonlight did fascinating things to anatomy; so did mosquitoes, but it was worth it. As an excessively chaste squire she’d missed too much fun, and a sense of unrepentant delinquency was something to savour.

            The morning was for business. The little animal track above the Vassa was longer, fording the Brown trickier, and the woods more beautiful than she’d noticed two years before. Then Jump had been with poor Shepherd and other Haven dogs, with no time to investigate anything; this time he could run sideways as much as forwards and thoroughly sniff whatever warranted it, sparrows flitting with him. A mile short of their objective they reappeared, alarmed but indicating a friend, and Kel wasn’t surprised when a hundred yards later Wuodan appeared from trees ahead. His unusual mindvoice sounded thoughtful.

            _The scents are very confused here, guilt and innocence mixed._

            “I’m sure they are, Wuodan. These people are smugglers but they betray none and helped me rescue the children, if you know that tale.”

            _I do. What arrangement will you make with them?_

“I’m not sure but I want them in, not out. Will you come with us, that they may know their peril as well as their opportunity?”

            He cocked his head. _Very well. It will save time later. But …_  The embers in his eyes went out, and a normal if hugely outsize dog looked at her. _I am not Hunting and may not use the Hunt’s power on innocents._

“They’re hardly that, but scrupulous is good and I hope to prevent them ever becoming guilty.”

            _Then let us go._

            She named him to all, holding back warily, and introduced him properly to a delighted Owen, in whom he seemed to recognise a man who knew hounds, if not with Wyldon’s expertise, and to Dom, as her mate and the fief’s authority in her absence. Conversation was limited to observations about the abundance of game and a valley by the Smiskir where a band of spidrens laired; she promised a treaty-bound spidren would be sent to make contact. The clearing with longhouses was ahead and all fell silent, spreading along the treeline as once before so they could be seen. They were clearly expected but these people were cautious and the only sound chickens and geese within the palisade. The wicket opened and three people came out—the man she’d seen on the other side of the Vassa, the man she remembered as leader, who’d bargained with Neal, and Old Gella, who was his mother and most important after him. Kel went forward with Dom and Tobe, Wuodan beside them.

            “You again. More trouble, I expect.”

            “I hope not. You remember Dom and Tobe—Dom and I are handfast, and we’ve adopted Tobe. And this is Wuodan. I’ve an offer for you all.”

            “An offer? Ferrying the Hamrkeng council back, I suppose. That stormwing gave us all a turn.”

            “Would you rather they’d landed on your doorstep without warning? Or drowned crossing the Vassa?”

            “We’d have known when they came close and what’s it to us if they’d drowned? That’s clan business.”

            “And without them there’d be no peace. Can I take it you’re aware of what’s been happening in the Greenwoods valley these last weeks?”

            “Ay, we’ve heard tales. What’s true is anyone’s guess.”

            “Unless you know for sure, which I do. May we come in? I promise you it’s an offer you’ll find interesting.”

            “Do it.” Gella was even more wrinkled but her eyes were bird-bright. “She’s chock-full of destiny yet, and if that hound’s mortal I’m a goose.”

            _You have good eyes, grandmother._

            The leader went as tense as a drawn bow. “What is he then?”

            “Wuodan leads the Wild Hunt under Lord Weiryn. But you’re making me start with the stick when I’ve come bearing carrots.”

            There was more shuffling but eventually they were all allowed to enter. Kel asked for everyone to gather, and with Gella’s prodding they agreed. While families assembled in the hall Kel tried to find out what the leader was called but he remained wary and she shrugged.

            “Alright. Just don’t complain when everything’s in Gella’s name.”

            He looked baffled as she produced the scroll and her quill-and-ink case to make the necessary entry.

            “Everyone here? Right, facts first. One, last time we met no-one was using names but everything has changed. As of two days ago I’m Countess Keladry of New Hope, Clanchief Hléoburh, by the authority of King Jonathan and the Council of Eight. Two, New Hope stretches from South Bend to Steadfast and Bearsford to the Pakkai, and you’re in the middle of it. Three, as of the ides there’ll be a bridge over the Vassa—dragons, basilisks, ogres, and a black-robe mage are helping and it _will_ be built, to carry the Great North Road unbroken from Corus to Hamrkeng. And four, as Wuodan can tell you, the Wild Hunt will ward travellers on it in exchange for free run of my woods, on both sides of the Vassa.”

            _The Protector speaks truth._

            The leader looked at Wuodan, then Kel, and let out a sigh. “So the tales are right.” He shook his head. “You want us gone.”

            “Not at all. Jorvik Hamrsson told me you were clanless folk, but I think you’re your own clan, Clan Nihthelm.” That garnered smiles. “You do have a problem, though, because while I’m not silly enough to think everyone will be happy to use a guarded bridge, your business will suffer. Also, I’ll want to know who the unhappy are, even if I do nothing about it, and with the Hunt at large you’ll have to be _very_ careful what business you do. Bridge and Hunt are necessary, but you’re paying a price so I aim to offer you compensation and a choice. Gella, this is yours.”

            She handed the old woman the scroll.

            “What’s this? It’s mighty fine but my eyes aren’t what they were.”

            “I think your eyes see a great deal. It’s a landgrant, recognising everything on both sides of the Vassa within a mile of here as the holding of Clan Nihthelm, under Chief Gella, and accepting it creates a liegebond Corus _and_ Hamrkeng recognise. If you decide to go elsewhere I’ll offer compensation. Or you can change your line of business.” Her eyes sought the man she’d spoken to in Scanra. “You complained we made regular ferrymen of honest smugglers and I suggested you try it in peacetime. I didn’t know about the bridge then. But bridges need all kinds of work—maintenance, clearing debris caught on piers, guiding boats up and down.” She looked at the leader. “Or I want a Guild of Vassa Boatmen, to promote trade along the river, and so do Lord Ennor at Frasrlund and Lord Ferghal haMinch. I doubt it’ll be headquartered in my lands, but with a hundred miles of Vassa running through them it’ll be important to me, and you could be its core. Or if you’ve another idea, I’ll listen. You can find nightwork elsewhere with money to set you up. Or try daywork, with land recognised as yours and status with it.”

            His jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

            “Entirely. I’ll leave you to think about it. My people can flesh out facts for you, if you give them the chance.”

            She was inspecting the chicken and geese run when they whirled to the far side, clucking and honking, and Wuodan came up beside her.

            _They are chasing their tails but will accept your offer and the scents will become clearer. I believe I will enjoy our deal. You are an interesting mortal and it is good to run in this realm again._ He seemed to decide something could wait. _I will find you at need._

“Thank you, Wuodan. And for talking to Wyldon—he admires you.”

            _He is interesting too. I shall be visiting his hounds._

Kel laughed. “Good. Come and tell me about it afterwards, if you will. You’re always welcome at New Hope, you know.”

            _A very interesting mortal._

            He didn’t bother with the wicket but sprang cleanly over the palisade. Dom came forward, limp barely noticeable.

            “He’s going to visit Wyldon’s hounds. Owen’ll be delighted.”

            Dom laughed. “Yes, he will. And so are those smugglers. It’s a good offer, Kel, and I can’t think of anyone else in Tortall who’d have made it. The others are hip-deep in the Tale of Lady Kel, and will be for a while yet, but I wanted to tell you I’m proud of you.”

            Kel kissed him. “Don’t you start. I’m just me, remember, and they deserve it. It’s logical, anyway.”

            “Only you’d think so, but that’s alright.” He kissed her back.

 

* * * * *

 

At dawn on the ides a _lot_ of people were waiting by the Vassa. On the crowded Tortallan bank two piers were in place and roadway laid: ogres had constructed them, basilisks bonded them, magepower raised them and sunk them into rock liquefied and reset; mortals had cantilevered petrified planks, and basilisks bonded those too. Geraint couldn’t decide if it was still a cantilever or simply a beam; Kel didn’t care as long as it worked. There’d been stone to spare, so where roadway met slope there were beginnings of guard and garrison quarters, defensive capacities concealed by friendly architecture: Kel wanted trade, not war, but redundant strength was better than built-in weakness. On the Scanran bank only one pier stood, because the next would be twenty-five yards out in the Vassa; the unmated roadways projected forlornly but nearly a hundred yards of bridge already existed. Kel wasn’t short of manpower, the Scanrans having come and very many Tortallans, so buildings were rising along the bluffs—stables, general store, smithy, farrier’s and wheelwright’s shops, an inn she’d christened the _Smugglers’ Rest_ , and a local headquarters for the Guild of Vassa Boatmen

            Other piers waited on the Tortallan side—huge columns of bonded stone. Height varied according to the depth of the river and the lowest parts, to be sunk in rock, were diamond-shaped with projecting flanges; upper parts had great corbels where the roadway would rest, above which wings rose a further twenty feet to secure it and support multiple rails. They were _very_ heavy and Numair was concerned that moving them magically would be a dangerous strain. Kel had nodded and said she’d see what could be done—it was only sensible to inform Diamondflame of what was going to be needed, and she’d done so by writing a letter with many diagrams Ebony could see and darkings in the Dragonlands relay. She added a second explaining Numair’s concerns and asking if dragonmagic might assist; a squeaked reply told her not to worry, so she let Numair know it was taken care of, earning her a sidelong look.

            He wasn’t the only mortal speculating about how she planned to get this bridge built, and there had been truly silly suggestions from people who seemed to think fast-flowing water could be petrified or that the Vassa would have to be dammed, with calamitous consequences. Others muttered about the time it took to construct cofferdams and the impossibility of doing so in _this_ river. Kel told them to wait and see—it gave those not working flat out something to talk about—but saw New Hopers didn’t doubt it would happen, while guests, Tortallan or Scanran, were sceptical. Much as everyone had during and after the Immortals War, they saw wonders all around but had no notion of making them useful. It was very odd, but everyone was up and fed when the sun rose, and the dragons didn’t keep them waiting. As usual Kitten gave first warning, and after looking with hawk’s eyes Daine whistled.

            “Wingstar’s back with Diamondflame and Jadewing.”

            “And how big is he?” Jonathan was peering at the silhouettes far above. “Is he the one in front of Diamondflame?”

            “Diamondflame _is_ in front. Jadewing’s about a hundred-and-twenty feet, not counting the tail.” Daine grinned. “I did say Diamondflame wasn’t the biggest dragon.”

            Jonathan nodded faintly, pulling at his beard. “So you did. It’s … hard to imagine.”

            “No need, sire.” Kel grinned at him. “They’ll be here in a moment. You’ll have to help Numair, Harailt, and Alanna with lifting basilisks and ogres. The end of the existing roadway’s closest.”

            “Closest to—never mind. I’m going.” His gaze rested on the far bank. “Do you know those people? I don’t recognise them.”

            Kel glanced across the water. “Ex-smugglers, now Clan Nihthelm and future Vassa boatmen and innkeepers. You might talk to Old Gella if you get the chance—she’s the strongest hedgewitch I’ve ever met and Neal thought some of her magic very nifty.”

            He laughed. “So that’s why you insisted on the _Smugglers’ Rest_. I’m going, I’m going.”

            Kel went to tell other mages, basilisks, and ogres where they’d be needed and accompanied them. By the time they’d all made their way out to the cantilevered end of the roadway—forty foot wide and much less worrying to be on than it looked from below—the dragons were in their final descent. Jadewing was a beautiful pale green and simply _colossal_ , half as long again as Diamondflame with a tail to match, but he didn’t make the senior dragon seem any less potent though the sixty-foot Wingstar looked positively delicate by comparison. Eyeing the crowds, fallen into reverential silence, they wheeled to come in on the Scanran shore, landing neatly on the bluffs. As everyone straightened Numair rested a cool hand on Kel’s neck and her voice rose over the water.

            “Lord Diamondflame, Lord Jadewing, Lady Wingstar, greetings.”

            _And to you, Protector._ Diamondflame was audible to all and the crowd rippled as mindspeech hit them. _Everything is ready? You have achieved much in two weeks._

            “Thank you, my Lord, but we have reached our limit.”

            _Has anything changed from the plans you discussed?_

“No, my Lord, and as you see the piers are completed. They lie in their right order, extending from this side, and the intervals should be the same as that between the existing piers behind me.”

            _Then there is no problem for me. Jadewing, any concerns?_

            The great green dragon stretched his neck and magic the colour of his scales flickered around the biggest, lifting it as a man might a spear.

            _None, Diamondflame. They are heavier than they look but within my grasp._ His mindvoice was conversational, a beautiful—Kel would have said baritone but that was silly. _They are basilisk bonded, Protector?_

“They are, my Lord.”

            _That explains the density—no natural rock has such weight._ He seemed to consider her. _You are very polite, as mortals go._

            Diamondflame’s mindvoice came to her alone, though she never understood how she knew when a communication was private.

            _Our capacity to lift magically reflects physical strength and Jadewing is_ very _strong. Much stronger than he is clever, fortunately, but there is no harm in him._

            Kel blinked, never taking her eyes from Jadewing. “How could I not be respectful, my Lord, when you so kindly aid us of your grace?”

            This time the dragon blinked and Kel felt like pumping a fist.

            _My grace? It was what Rainbow wanted. Shall we start?_

_If the mortals, basilisks, and ogres are ready. Mortals, you must stand clear of the water, for it will rise, and of piers when they are lifted. Wingstar will watch for safety, but care is needed._

Not waiting for any reply Diamondflame sprang aloft, hovering on magic as he had over the landslip. A bar of glittering magic appeared between piers on the Tortallan side and flipped over the outermost to stretch over the Vassa, indicating where the next pier should be.  He shifted to position himself above the spot and more magic descended to strike the water, expanding into an oval that bored down, the river’s flow parting around it in a deepening hollow. Within a minute the scoured stone of the river bed was visible, and the oval expanded until it was wider and longer than the pier by a dozen feet each way. The Vassa rose but didn’t overflow its banks and there was profound silence broken by Kel’s sigh of pleasure.

            “There we go. Wonderful. Thank you, my Lord. Sire, mages, Var’istaan, Laar’aan, Kuriaju, and Samiaju into there, please.”

            The mages looked at one another, shook collective heads, and did as asked. As soon as the ogres touched down they heaved stray boulders to the downstream end of the oval, beyond the space the pier would occupy, and stood back as basilisks began a bone-shakingly low rumble tightly focused on the stone, which began to glow. Kitten and other young immortals had come out onto the bridge to see, and she chirped applause; Kel thought the sight was in its own way as terrifying as anything she’d ever witnessed—but it was going to get her bridge built. Basilisks retreated, widening the pool of rock; Diamondflame’s voice sounded free of strain despite the magic pouring from him.

            _Now, Jadewing, the first pier?_

 _Of course, Diamondflame._ The great green dragon used magic to push aloft, positioning himself so close to Diamondflame his wing extended over the senior dragon. A thick streamer of his magic reached out to the right pier. _This one, Protector?_

            Numair was several steps away but Jadewing was looking straight at Kel, Ebony was on her shoulder, and she nodded.

            “Yes, my Lord, that one first.”

            _Sharp edge to the current?_

            “Exactly so.” The pier lifted into the air. “The other way up, my Lord. The flanges rest on the river-bed.”

            The pier rotated end over end and floated over the water before descending into the hollow. As its base neared the river-bed Samiaju bellowed as his arm gestured. “A little to my left, Lord Jadewing, and towards me. More to the left. Yes. Yes. Now straight into the rock.”

            As the pier was forced down trills from the basilisks banked the rock overflow. With twenty feet of pier buried flanges came to where they should be. “Stop, Lord Jadewing, but _don’t_ let go. Lady Kel?”

            “Samiaju to the top of that pier, please.” Numair complied, and the ogre, uncoiled a weighted rope, a plumbline held at arm’s length over the side of the pier and let fall. It stopped ten feet short of the river-bed, bouncing, and when it had stilled Samiaju lowered it to within to a foot of the flange. Kuriaju moved so he could see it and the pier in parallel.

            “The pier needs to be tilted to my right, Lord Jadewing. Back a little. Slowly. Hold it.” He squinted. “A fraction more. Another. Yes, that’s vertical. Var’istaan, Laar’aan?”

            The basilisks trilled the rock that had overflowed back to lap over flanges, smoothed curves, and shifted to the extraordinary sound—a tremendous _un_ -rumble—that reset rock, advancing to the base of the pier. When they’d finished they stalked around it, probing with magic and pressing with their feet, then nodded at Samiaju.

            “You can let go, Lord Jadewing. All done, Lady Kel.”

            The green magic vanished.

            “Excellent. Thank you. Mages, all of them to the piertop, please.”

            Basilisks and ogre rose and landed beside Samiaju, and slowly Diamondflame let the oval shrink and rise, water pouring back round the pier. Turbulence developed downstream where parted currents met again but at the knife-edge there was barely a fleck of foam. Diamondflame and Jadewing returned to the further bank and tumult rose from the crowd; Kel offered a bow she saw Diamondflame acknowledge with a nod and beckoned waiting roadway teams—files of men bearing great sixty-foot planks sawn from the same pines that had provided Geraint’s bridge, and more basilisks. The mages knew what was needed, and the first few planks were easily supported across the void to be seated home by the group on the pier, with others positioned tightly at the near end, and the whole simultaneously petrified and bonded, basilisk rumbles thundering across the water. With part of the span usable the process accelerated as carrying-teams could simply hold planks where they had to be until ends were bonded and the whole petrified, and Kel had enough people available that the stream of arriving planks was continuous. Within half-an-hour the forty-foot roadway had been completed, and a second layer of planks laid and petrified as a single unit. There would be additional surfacing but that could wait—and the whole operation had taken little more than an hour. The roadway teams withdrew and Kel rubbed her hands with intense satisfaction.

            “Now we do it again.”

            And they did. The next pier was the largest, standing in deeper water on the saddle between channels, an intrusion of darker and harder rock. That didn’t cause a problem, nor did Jadewing seem to notice the greater weight, but the intrusion wasn’t flat, nor anywhere near, and the basilisks had to be reinforced to shape and hold the first four or five feet they liquefied, as a broad collar under the flanges. Adjusting to the vertical took longer, the plumb line deployed on all four sides, and when they were sure of it more rock from the upstream side was liquefied and guided to flow around the pier, building up the broad step it rested on and smoothing contours so boulders would be directed away. The third was as easy as the first, the fourth, in shallow water near the Scanran bank easier still: Diamondflame created a crescent cofferdam, and once basilisks and ogres had been lifted to the farther shore they could scramble down to the site. By late lunchtime, save for surfacing and railings, there was a bridge across the Vassa.

            Jonathan looked at Kel and shook his head with admiration. “Entirely astonishing. Go on, Keladry, you should be first across.”

            Kel agreed despite herself but when she glanced up all the dragons were watching intently from the bluffs; a decision crystallised.

            “I don’t think so, sire.” She raised her voice. “Everybody, hold still. Now go back the way you came, so no-one— _no-one_ —has crossed the bridge.” There were odd looks but they weren’t going to argue with that voice. Once she was satisfied everyone was obeying she headed back to the Tortallan side, Jonathan and Alanna flanking her while Numair and Harailt discussed dragonmagic behind.

            “Why so, Keladry?”

            “The dragons relaxed when I gave that order. It matters.”

            “How do you know they were tense?”

            Kel shrugged. “I’m not sure, Alanna. But I had a _strong_ feeling and I don’t ignore those even if they seem to make no sense.”

            “Say no more. That sort of feeling has saved my life. Any ideas?”

            “Not really, but it was clear at Beltane the bridge mattered to Lord Mithros and the Goddess as well as Diamondflame and Rainbow, so I expect we’ll find out. Unless we don’t.”

            “Fair enough. Should I try to ask her?”

            “If you want, but Irnai’s getting no answers and neither am I. It might be more useful to wonder how we can thank the dragons. I suspect I’m supposed to know but the only thing I’ve been able to think of is to name it the Dragonbridge.”

            Harailt heard this. “Dragonbridge? Now what … oh, yes, one of the Scanrans I was talking to about sagas mentioned something like that.”

            Kel spun, walking backwards. “Who?”

            “Um, an older man, coerced, Clan Guthcræft, I think.”

            “He ought to be here—can you find him?”

            “I expect so.”

            It took most of lunchtime but eventually Kel saw Harailt coming with a grey-haired and –bearded man. Guthcræft land was far north, bordering the Icefalls, and his Scanran thickly dialectal, straining Kel’s ear, but it was soon clear he had only a vague memory.

            “Hi had the tell of my grandam, Dragonlady”—he used a form Kel had never heard, _dracheorli_ —“but she died when Hi was a bairn an’ she mashed stories together—gods an’ dragons an’ hicebears an’ Hi dunno whatall.”

            “And the Dragonbridge?”

            “A rope bridge dragons destroyed. Hi can’t tell why but they was fightin’ someone. Hi mind the bridge for grandam got excited tellin’ how hit burned, ropes all partin’ an’ lashin’ about hin th’heat.”

            “ _Nihtes fleogeth fyre befangen?_ ”

            Harailt glanced at her sharply but the man gave a gap-toothed smile. “Yes, grandam said hit was like the burnin’ ropes was dragonfire, lightin’ up whatever they touched. Hi never met no-one else who knew the tell, but now Hi seen dragonchiefs up close and Hi wish grandam was here to see.” He shook his head. “Maggur Reidarsson should never’a gone against dragons nor worms, an’ you warned him fair.”

            “I tried. I’m sorry it came to that—dragonfire shouldn’t burn men.”

            “You did what you must, Dragonlady, an’ hif Hi’da dragongift when Maggur came callin’ at Guthcræft Hi’da done hit too.” He looked at her shrewdly. “We bin talkin’ about that trick you pulled wi’the spidren-queen, an’ there’s men say you was tryin’ to spare us hif you could.”

            “I was. I’m sick of killing and men burn in my dreams. Stanar Petarsson told you—dead people can’t change their minds or help with what needs doing.”

            “Truth. But don’t you be haunted by them you burned, Dragonlady. We didna hav’ta guth you, an’ we did. Hi don’t regret knowin’ what dragonfire his, neither. Mayhap Hi needed remindin’, and Hi’va tale for my grandins when Hi gets home.”

            He went off back to his friends and Harailt looked at Kel. “Any help? That accent’s hard to follow. Did you get everything?”

            “I think so, though _dracheorli_ is new on me. Do other far northerners compound words like that? Scanran does anyway but he did it a lot—dragonfire, dragonchiefs, dragongift.”

            “Um, some. It’s a dialectal habit, mashing words—like his grandam mashing stories. Does it matter?”

            “I don’t know. I did it myself with _dragonbridge_. But _drachifethe_ … even with his accent and the _g_ swallowed shouldn’t it be _drachifa?_ ”

            “I suppose. But _gifethe_ is in one of the old sagas. It’s not a present—it’s _fate_ or _destiny_ , I suppose—what’s been gifted to someone by a god, or birth. What’s ordained for someone in particular.”

            “So he said Diamondflame’s gift was … dragonfate? Dragon nature?”

            “Either. What they’re given and what they give. But he meant he’d have defended his home however he could.”

            “Even so …”

            Ebony was talking to Daine and Kel thought it might not be a bad idea to be only herself for this. She walked downriver, under the bridge, to stand opposite Diamondflame, still on the bluff with the other dragons. They seemed to be napping but his eyes opened.

            _Protector?_

            Kel tried to project her voice adequately without commanding everyone else’s attention. “I wondered if we could speak, my Lord.”

            _Jadewing, would you oblige? Your reach is longer._

 _Of course._ A tendril of green magic wrapped around Kel and lifted her clean across the Vassa to the bluff in what felt like barely a second and left her gasping. _Oh, sorry—you’re much lighter than those piers._

            Even with her head spinning Kel heard dryness in Diamondflame’s mindvoice. _I would hope she is, Jadewing. She’s a lot smaller._

_True._

            The green dragon closed his eyes again, and Kel saw relaxation run down his neck. Though far from drained he clearly felt the magic he’d expended, but Diamondflame was sharp-eyed as always, and Wingstar alert; intent even. Kel tried a breath.

            “Thank you, Lord Jadewing. I’m sorry to be so fragile.”

            _Not your fault._

            He didn’t open his eyes and Kel looked at Diamondflame, seeing his laughter but also the same focus as Wingstar. She smiled at him ruefully, aware of thousands of startled gazes resting on her back.

            “I wanted to thank you, and I’ve been trying to think how we can properly mark all your help and kindness. But there’s so little any mortal can offer a dragon—I can’t even give you dinner, as I could the gods.”

            _No thanks are needed, Keladry. You have done much for Skysong and our cousins. And as Jadewing says, you are polite—why should we not respond to a courteous request from one we owe a debt of care, when the work itself is easy for us and saves many from danger?_

            Kel blinked. Diamondflame wasn’t given to rhetorical questions, and hadn’t said thanks weren’t _wanted_. “Oh but thanks are needed, for mortals’ sake as well as in courtesy. And forgive me, I don’t suppose it can matter to you what mortals think, but today has sunk deep into those Scanrans’ minds. Quenuresh and I couldn’t fool them again with that illusion because they don’t now think of dragons just as _eald uhtsceatha_ , flying out of the dark to burn everything.”

            _Yet once we did so, Keladry._

“Did you? To burn a rope bridge?”

            _Where did you hear that?_

            The power in Diamondflame’s mindvoice was physical pressure; Wingstar’s stillness was the kind that explodes, and Jadewing’s eyes snapped open, head rising. Silver fringed Kel’s vision. _I am a lake. A lake with a bridge._

            “A tale a Scanran had of his grandam. Forgive me, it’s true then?”

            _It is true we once burned a bridge._

            Silver thickened, flecking the air. “And now you have built one. My Lord, I know enough to sense the timeway, and I know nothing at all. I would not offend you or any dragon for the world, so I wanted to ask if it is acceptable that we name the bridge to mark your grace to us?”

            _To name it how, Protector?_

“I had been thinking just of the Dragonbridge, but that Scanran used a word that struck me. _Drachifethe_.”

            Kel had an impression of an order snarled sideways at Jadewing, who snapped his jaw. Wingstar was so taut she was humming.

            _Let us be clear, Protector._ Neutrality was absolute. _You ask if it is acceptable to us that you name this bridge Drachifethe, and in doing so acknowledge and commemorate our aid in its construction?_

            “All your aid—the skullroad and landslip, but yes. I ask if we may name this bridge _Drachifethe_.”

            _Protector, you may._

            Neutrality was gone, exultation in his tone as silver flared and died, and all three dragons were standing and bugling, deafening calls that seemed to echo from the sky. Staggering back, mindful of the bluff, Kel let herself fall, landing on her back, breath half-knocked out of her, to see the sky explode with scores of dragons, just _there_ , in great circles surrounding Rainbow. They were all hovering magically but displaced air slapped trees and downdrafts battered her as the three dragons took off. How Diamondflame and Jadewing didn’t collide she had no idea, but she was aware of mindspeech blazing and a dozen dragons dropped out of the great formation towards the far bank. People were scattering but it was stone they wanted, remaining blocks flipping skywards like leaves in a gale—hundreds of them, beginning to glow, more and more brightly, and assembling above the bridge in a great mass that coalesced into a ball of molten rock, red becoming white.

            Kel’s breath returned and alarm dissipated—this was celebration, not threat, and if some formal act of naming was required Diamondflame would let her know. Meanwhile she had an excellent view so it seemed sensible to stay propped on her elbows. The dragons were holding the ball of magma up and Rainbow lowered himself towards it, magic in all the colours of his scales flowing from his paws. Diamondflame joined him, and two golden dragons, and the stone stretched and broke into halves, then calved small spheres that began to elongate. One of Uinse’s men with the building teams on this side came cautiously towards her.

            “Are you alright, Lady Kel?”

            “Fine, thanks.” She shifted to sit cross-legged. “Come and watch.”

            Self-consciously he squatted, shielding his eyes from the glow. “You know what’s going on, my Lady?”

            “Not a clue, but that’s going to be sculptures, I think.”

            “Sculptures?”

            “Seven dragons, unless I miss my guess.”

            But she didn’t. Stone flowed almost the whole length of the bridge, smaller spheres gathered above the central pier, and she could see how it would be. On each side, facing the centre, were adults, hind paws on one pier, forepaws on the next, tails extending and heads stretching forward to the five kits becoming visible on the central pier, looking back at their parents. Cinders, Yolky, Flinders, Croaky, Parcel, Morsel, and Runt. As shapes were completed fine detail began to appear, lines of muscle and faces, then scales in true pattern that took on colour. Firebreath had been almost griffin coloured, with a golden crest like Diamondflame’s, and Golden Eggs as golden all over as her name, glittering in sunlight. The kits had shown their parentage in copper reds and golden browns, and wingless Runt, a little bigger than Kitten, had had a glimmering golden list from head to tail-tip. Her heart ached. The gods could have had no excuse, but she knew the bitter sadness only at its end when it was at last being forgiven.

            “ _Are_ you alright, Lady Kel?”

            The man’s voice was full of concern and Kel realised her cheeks were wet. No matter—she had a handkerchief and rose, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose briskly. “Yes, thank you. Those sculptures are as beautiful as they are sad.” She knew what had to happen. “Come on. We need to get the approach on this side clear before that stone cools.”

             It was a close-run thing. The approach to the bridge was already hazing with silver. “Form an honour guard. Everyone out of the roadway.”

            She could see dragons settling in a great fan around the far end of the bridge, people scrambling away though dragon magic prevented harm. Space warped around each settling dragon: the effect was dizzying, that whole bank of the Vassa seeming to distort so much that some was forced up, tilting wildly, but the people standing on it were undistressed. Folk around her were gaping and her voice slapped them to action, scampering into line as she slipped past to stand facing into Scanra. Silver thickened, spreading back from the bridge and the glow was more compelling than the crazy landscape behind her as shapes began to coalesce. The Goddess led them, her gaze piercing, but there was a cat at her side, and behind her gods by the score. Kel bowed deeply and stood aside, going to one knee. Weiryn and the Green Lady were in the throng, smiles dazzling, blind Shakith and a robed figure she thought must by Mynoss, the Smith God and Harrier the Clawed, Oinomi Wavewalker, the colour of the Emerald Ocean in sunlight, the Horse Lords, Chavi, Bian, Vau, and Shai, and Kel hoped Thayet and Buri could see them. Kidunka wove among the crowd, Lushagui, Jihuk, tricksters—Sakuyo trotting to keep up with a taller, striding man in a _raka_ sarong, his beard salt-and-pepper and all of him glittering with jewellery. They paused as they passed Kel and the bearded man leaned down.

            “ _Very_ good—you _have_ been helpful. Remind me to reward you. And give George my best.”

            Kel instinctively bridled at Kyprioth’s tone but her attention was beyond him, where the Black God came with his daughter, hyena at her side. They too paused and the Hag leaned down, one knobbly hand grasping Kel’s arm.

            “Upsy-daisy.” Kel landed on her feet and found herself turned to look along the bridge. “You don’t want to miss this grovelling.”

            She had no idea how she could see through the crowd of gods and the silver haze enveloping them but the Goddess had reached the centre of the bridge and paused. Her arms spun above her head and silver flowed into the statues before she moved on; each god did likewise as they passed, and the statues began to glow, like the pillars but in the hues of living scale. Kel sighed at the beauty.

            “Pretty, isn’t it? And all the virtues with it. You’ll have a peaceful time hereabouts for an eon or three, while you wish us work as mad as any mortal ever thought of.”

            Kel tore her eyes from the blessings and turned but the Hag was grinning and another god stood beside her father, wearing a long coat while others streamed past, animal gods among them in shapes she knew and shapes she’d never seen.

            “Don’t fret—I didn’t say I disapproved of mad. But it’s work all the same, and Gainel needs a word—after his fashion. He can be here because just now this bridge is nowhere near the mortal realm but talking directly to mortals is still a no-no. So let him buss you, eh?”

            Was there no end to it? But she’d offered her experience to Mithros and now offered it to the Dream King gladly, bowing and smiling her gratitude before turning her face up so he needn’t stoop. His eyes were infinite, swirling pits and his lips on her forehead icy, drawing warmth from her whole body with the agony of her rape and the bitterness and joy she’d found in life beyond it, with Dom and the children and hopes fulfilled—the sterility the tauros had left, the fertility the Goddess had restored, and the pregnancy of which she was abruptly certain; pain and sorrow, infinite strength to endure, and absolute determination to be fair, to change her mind about spidrens, to see even tauroses could only be what they were made to be. When his lips withdrew she was white and juddering, and Gainel looked at her, then stooped again, and his lips were hot on her mouth for a second while warmth flooded her and her mind filled with blossom. When it cleared he had gone, striding past her, and the Hag was cackling.

            “Oh my. You do make impressions, don’t you?”

            Kel found the energy to glare. “I’ve one to make on you, certainly.” She was rewarded with another laugh. “Meet me at Haven sometime when this lot’s done? I’ve a proposition for your hyena.”

            Had the Black God smiled beneath his hood? The Hag looked thoughtful and the hyena startled. “Have you, now? I might do that, when summer fun’s over. Time to add my mite to the blessings.”

            With a wink both lewd and funny next to her eyepatch she hobbled past and Kel bowed to the Black God. “Thank you again, my Lord, for everything.”

            “Today you have repaid any debt many times over. Stay on your feet now, and speak from your heart.” The wind soughed as he passed her, joining the throng of animal gods flowing out of nowhere onto the bridge, and her eyes met those of Lord Mithros a few feet away, face impassive. She bowed yet again.

            “My Lord.”

            “So Gainel has what he wanted and has blessed you beside. And you have your bridge, setting every realm on its head.”

            “You sent me back, my Lord. Do you regret it this day?”

            His gaze sharpened. “No. The timeway knows what it’s doing. And my brother is right you have earned your blessings, as warrior and woman.” His fingers drummed on his thigh. “Why did you make a deal with Wuodan and the Hunt?”

            “To protect those who will travel by road and _Drachifethe_.”

            “Is that all?”

            “No. I was thinking … Lord Weiryn spoke of being bound to his lands and I wondered if the Hunt were bound with him. I didn’t like the idea of them cooped up, and his gifts saved us as much as anyone’s. I can’t help his and the Green Lady’s sadness but I wanted to do something to help if I could. Then it snowballed.”

            “What sadness?”

            “Your edicts making it so difficult for Daine to see them.”

            He frowned. “They can meet on the Great Holidays. And the darkings bypass my bans anyway.”

            Kel stared. “As I understand it, my Lord, the next time Daine’s allowed to see her parents freely will be when she’s dead. I’ve no idea how long the Godborn may live after such a choice as she made, nor if Lord Weiryn has had other children, but the Green Lady had one only, and was murdered in her own home before her daughter was fourteen. Have you considered what Sarra Beneksri had to _give up_ in becoming a god? If you’d had your brother offer me that choice when I was dead I’d have turned you down flat—it’s cruel, whatever the need.”

            “And there was need.” He sounded provoked, battlefury in his voice, and she knew she’d been scolding again, shame rising. “The Godborn create almost as much disorder as you.”

            Kel forgot she was feeling appalled and guilty. “ _Disorder?_ As far as I can tell I’ve just fixed some ghastly feud that goes back to godslain dragon kits while I’m doing my best to pacify a thousand-mile border that’s been a mess for a century. You’re the god who mixes war and justice, and honestly, there are days I think you’ve got order and disorder just as muddled up.” Appalled caught up though not guilty and she kept her gaze on him as lightnings flickered and faded.

            “I can’t deny your courage, and my sister would tell me you have a point. There has always been a contradiction. It’s what gods do.”

            Kel did drop her eyes. “Tell me.”

            Unexpectedly he laughed, a golden sound. “You of all mortals will appreciate that. And you have a knack, as Weiryn says. Yet I will not go back on my word.”

            Kel looked up, blinking. “Is the ban on _his_ travel your word?”

            “An older law.”

            “Which says?”

            “That a god granted the creation of another shall be bound to his or her lands for a century.”

            “Those lands being?”

            “Their usual place in the divine realms.”

            “Lord Weiryn’s place is partly with the Hunt. Which will often be here.”

            “Mortal realm.”

            “The hinterland of his major shrine.”

            “A four-foot shrine and a hundred mile hinterland?”

            “What’s a hundred miles to a god? A step, a breath. And the Hunt resolves you—a wild force for order.” She shrugged. “I just hate seeing people or gods unhappy when it’s hard to see the need. One mile or a hundred, let him and his wife come here when they will if their daughter is present. Is it so bad?”

            “Maybe not, but there is good reason for that law.”

            “Then tell me, will the gods want to visit the _Drachifethe?_ ”

            “By no means. Once is quite enough.”

            “I doubt it, but in that case you’ll have no problem allowing all gods to do so at will. Just forget the riders.”

            He laughed again. “Now that is much cleverer. I will consider it, Protector of the Large. And still you ask nothing for yourself.”

            “What can I ask beyond life returned to me and peace to live it in?”  
            “You’ll think of something. Until then.”

            He strode past and turning she saw time must have been suspended again, for the last gods were only a dozen yards in front of him, and the central flicker of blessings continued. But behind him silver haze was fading, stone roadway sharpening in sunlight. At the centre he stood a moment, looking at the glowing statues as colours played over him, and raised his arms, silver bolts flashing to be absorbed by stone, making the statues ripple with power. He walked on, and along the roadway Kel could see Rainbow and Diamondflame waiting, the silver trail of the gods passing between them into unseen distance. Reaching them he paused, nodded to each, and disappeared into silver that vanished after him.

            The statues glowed on, even in bright sunshine, but the dragons were leaping aloft in a storm of wings, buffeting groaning air, and as they gained height they were dancing, beginning to slide past and around one another, expanding over the river and far beyond. In the world below space contracted to where it ought to be, and the sky was a glory of movement, light through wings casting swathes of colour that flashed across the ground beside shadows of great bodies twisting and spiralling, dappling everything. It was like staring up into a summer forest but the leaves were shaking the wind and the sky twining through branches. They dwindled as they rose, dapple fading, and spiralling movement took them slowly west until they were lost in the sun.

            One last thing remained so Kel’s people knew what they must. Talk was beginning but fell again as she set foot on the bridge and started walking. A dragon’s tail curved over her head and she passed under the sinuous copper body, feeling heat pulse, and came to the central pier, turning to look at the adults’ heads and the five kits perched on the top, bowing to each, hands over her heart in the Scanran way.

            “Greetings all, my lords and ladies. Rest peacefully here, at the heart of New Hope. I don’t know if Lord Sakuyo’s blessing included his voice, but I’d be very grateful to use it for a moment, if I may.” It was only a slight pressure in her throat, not the force on the battlefield, but voices carried over water. “All who hear, remember this and tell it that everyone may know. This bridge is _Drachifethe_ , the Dragonwyrd, and the adult dragons were Firebreath and Golden Eggs. I cannot name the kits. Who would pass _Drachifethe_ must pray for their peace. It is the only toll there’ll ever be.”

            She bowed to the adult dragons again, feeling her throat ease, and walked slowly on to where her people and kin waited, and Dom.

 

* * * * *

 

Late in the evening Kel found herself sitting by a fire, Tobe and Irnai asleep at her side and Jump at her feet. Dom was there, in a Rathhausak group—Neal, Owen, Wolset and his lads, Uinse and Connac with survivors of their squads, Fanche and Saefas, Zerhalm. Of the living only Esmond was missing, and Peachblossom. There’d been jokes about how much easier crossing the Vassa would have been with a bridge that made Kel’s head hurt, but for a while there had been silence while people just looked at _Drachifethe_ and the glorious coil of dragons. A stream of people passed over it, pausing at the centre, and several fires away she could hear rumbling argument in Scanran about how a saga of what had happened should go. Neal was smiling when he wasn’t frowning at archaisms, and she was wondering about teasing him when Jonathan sat beyond Tobe’s curled body. His face was tired, magical expenditure showing, but he seemed relaxed, a traveller after a long journey and Kel considered him with detached interest.

            “Keladry, we’ve had no chance to talk.” After she’d crossed everyone had wanted to speak to her, and most had succeeded. “And you must be even more exhausted than I am. Is it over?”

            “I think so, sire. Here, anyway. I wouldn’t vouch for the Copper Isles.”

            “I don’t care about them. _This_ is over?”

            “So far as I know. Lord Mithros didn’t think we’d speak again until I think of something to ask him for. I asked the Hag to meet me at Haven sometime but that’s my business. Lord Weiryn might be about soon, with any luck, but that’ll be Daine’s business. If dragons show up it should be Guild business. It’s over, except for my wedding.”

            “As crisp, clear, and incomprehensible as ever. So my only remaining northern problem right now is what to give you as a wedding present?”

            She bridled. “You’ve already given me work to outlast my granddaughters.”

            “Not quite, Keladry, but it isn’t your problem unless you feel like dropping a hint.”

            Behind her Dom stirred. “That’s a dangerous invitation, sire.”

            “Oh piffle, Dom.” From beyond the fire she heard Wolset’s stifled snort and realised everyone was listening.

            Jonathan smiled. “I suspect Domitan and whoever snorted are right, but nevertheless. Is there anything, Keladry? I owe you a very great deal. We all do.”

            Still stung by that _incomprehensible_ Kel narrowed her eyes. “I’ll offer you a choice. If you’re thanking the Protector for peace, spend whatever six months of war would cost in a concerted effort to end the worst poverty in the lower city—investments that’ll go on helping, not a give-away. Working drains would be a start, and piped water. Spend your money where the Guild’s icelights can’t reach. Or if you’re thanking Kel, establish an annual scholarship for a girl of ability but no rank or fortune to train as a knight—fees, arms and armour, bruisebalm, horse, and a shield at the end of it, the lot, in Lalasa’s name, not mine.”

            Jonathan shook his head. “I’ll choose both if Thayet can give the scholarship. Walk with me a moment? There is one other thing.”

            She didn’t want to get up but eased feet from under Jump as Dom came to take her place as a child pillow. As she followed the King towards his tent she felt more weary than anything, but when she saw Turomot and Gareth her mind sharpened.

            “Have a seat, Keladry. Four days ago a messenger delivered the verdicts on those accused of treason—all forty-four. No surprises, and plenty of confessions, including Runnerspring’s. The question is, what do I do with them?”

            “Is there a choice?”

            “There’s only one penalty prescribed, but I can commute it.”

            “Pardon them, you mean?”

            “Not quite, my Lady.” Turomot was as precise as ever. “A pardon remits all penalty. They would be released to go about their business. But not all remissions of full penalty are pardons. There is precedent for a convict being allowed his life but neither title nor lands; also for a man let live but banished the realm.”

            “And why are you asking me, sire?”

            “Because you’ve been closer to the gods in this than any of us, and I want to do the right thing, if I can. I ask your counsel.”

            She let her eyes drift around the tent as she asked herself what she did feel. Not vengeful; greater wrongs than treason had been laid to rest today—but not so soon and at great cost. Slates were not wiped clean without payment. “They have to lose rank, wealth, power, and influence, and confront what they did so they’re fit to face the Black God. But I don’t want more blood on anyone’s hands.” She paused, thinking of what she’d said to Lord Mithros. “They have the right to die on Traitor’s Hill, if they’d rather, but if they’d as soon not I’d make them work the rest of their lives helping veterans who lost limbs to the killing devices, somewhere quiet where all that metalworking and administrative skill is devoted to finding a better answer than peglegs and braces. Gissa had an artificial hand, so it can be done, and gods know I gave Runnerspring reason to try. Their money can pay for it and boost pensions, and they can know that. Let them confront what they wrought and atone as best they may before the Black God calls them.”

            “Astonishing. Again. Turomot, is it legal?”

            “I’ve told you, sire—if you’re remitting penalties of Your Grace you can impose any condition you want. Specific residence and work are practical, and estates have escheated to the Crown so what you do with the lands and monies is at your discretion.”

            “Then make it so, Gary, and if any of them do choose to die make it swift. No speeches.”

            Kel blinked. “Just one, sire—like Genlith, they die unmourned and without plea for the Black God’s mercy. If they choose to face his judges now they’re saying they’ve nothing to atone for.”

            Jonathan nodded sharply. “Gary, tell them so before they decide.”

            Duke Gareth was looking at her strangely but tiredness was overtaking her. “If that’s it, can I go to bed?”

            “Not quite yet.” Jonathan’s face became austere. “I have also had a letter from Lord Burchard. He consented to be questioned under truthspell, and knew nothing even of Genlith’s treason—too mired in his grief to see what was under his nose, I think. And we have found those who did know. In any case, he tells me he disavows all connection with Genlith, Runnerspring, his brother-in-law, and others of his among the convicted, desires to withdraw to a contemplative life, and asks my leave to resign Stone Mountain to his eldest surviving son. Who is just of age.” Royal fingers drummed. “It seems acceptable, but I wanted your opinion.”

            Kel thought about that arrogant lord’s passage into confining, selfish grief and his involuntary, visceral reaction when the elemental had told him Joren had rejoiced at an image of his death. With the icon of his grief so intimately besmirched, what did he have left? And he had already withdrawn from Corus and the affairs of the realm, while a fief as large and important as Stone Mountain could not be left to his broken indirection. She shrugged.

            “Gone is good. But something needs to be done about the son who’s inheriting. I don’t even know his name and gods know what he’s been taught, but he couldn’t have been set a worse example and he must have had a truly miserable time of it.” A thought struck her. “I assume he won’t inherit Stone Mountain’s seat on the Council?”

            “Certainly not at any time soon, but the power of that fief can’t safely be ignored.”

            “I don’t care if he earns it with his actions and rule. Right now he has to need help, not a burden like that. And there must be a decade’s worth of hard work needed to sort out the mess his father will have left. Why don’t you ask Macayhill to help him with any immortals needing a treaty, and lend him a good royal clerk who _is_ properly trained in administration. I could do with one of those myself.”

            Turomot was smiling to himself but Duke Gareth’s eyebrows were chasing his receding hair upward.

            “You bear Lord Burchard no ill will, Lady Keladry? He has caused you much harm and as lord of the fief is complicit in its treason whatever he managed not to know.”

            “I pity what he has come to, Your Grace, as I despise how he got there. So long as his contemplative life is truly that, and his influence gone from family, fief, and realm alike, I am content.” She stood, feeling the weariness in every muscle. “He as much as Runnerspring needs all the time he can get to atone to the Black God. And the _Drachifethe_ will see most of what the traitors supposed themselves to believe in swept away in a generation or two, not that it ever really existed. Besides, do you really want to imagine grudges to cling to after what we all saw today?”

            He had no answer, and with the King’s smiling permission she made her way back to the sleeping children and peaceful men around the fire.


	32. Orison

**Chapter Thirty-Two — Orison**

_17 May – August_

 

For a wedding attended by thousands, including the royal family and a bevy of great nobles, Kel’s went smoothly. The Scanrans had gone, marching north over _Drachifethe_ , shelters dismantled and fields returned to proper purpose; so too had army ‘escort’ companies (though commanders remained) and Dukes Gareth and Turomot, with various Councillors, leaving a small retinue and the Own under Ettinor and Raoul to attend Jonathan and Thayet. The sense of ease as crowding dropped had everyone relaxing, and the return of some kind of ordinary life, however the royals might still be there, was a palpable pleasure.

            The aftermath of whatever had happened was also a kind of peacefulness, if only because everyone’s capacities for wonder were exhausted. Dom aside, only to Daine and Numair had Kel offered any more explanation than she’d given the King, describing her conversations with Diamondflame and encounters with Gainel and Mithros; they knew enough to understand, and her plea about Weiryn concerned them more than anyone. Daine had asked if it were a scheme to keep them at New Hope, but her eyes had been bright and her embrace hard. To everyone else, even kin, Kel said only that they’d seen what happened and it wasn’t mortal business anyway.

            _Drachifethe_ spoke for her. Everyone who’d seen it built had walked across it and the toll she’d imposed needed no enforcing; the stone dragons glowed night and day, and none could pass them unaware or fail of respect. Word spread like wildfire and people for miles around—Scanrans, Tortallans, even some speedy Gallans—made pilgrimage to experience the marvel; barely complete, the _Smugglers’ Rest_ was doing a roaring trade, and the settlement around the bridge had already become a community at the heart of New Hope. Nor had King or Council defaulted: the Great North and Smiskir Roads were in ever better shape, prosperity already beginning to flow along them and spread into the lands around.

            The Yamani delegation arrived later than intended, blown far off course by what Takemahou- _sensei_ darkly called mage-meddled winds in the Emerald Ocean. Kel accepted Prince Eitaro’s apologies on her own and the King’s behalves so graciously he couldn’t possibly repeat them, gravely informed him and Lord Kiyomori of Lord Sakuyo’s double manifestation and pointed out the tiny flowers studding the green, sending the _kamunushi_ as white as the painted women, before saying that she’d arranged for His Imperial Highness to visit the site of the second manifestation, where other gods had also appeared. With that for them to chew on she could liberate Patricine, Toshuro, and their children for her parents to carry off, draw Takemahou- _sensei_ aside to offer thanks for his mageblasts before hooking him up with Numair for a mage’s account of how it all worked out, and leave the King and Queen to hold the fort with Roald and Shinko while she and Dom slid away to join her family. She saw the Yamanis off next morning with her parents and Ettenor leading the Own’s First as a escort, and when they returned three days later all were extremely respectful; if it extended her pilgrimage routes to Yaman that was next year’s problem, and welcome anyway.

            Amid the peculiar pleasure of getting to know Patricine and Toshuro again, as an adult with a different perspective than the girl who’d bidden them farewell to seek page training, Kel found herself wondering hard about those mage-meddled winds, and took Ebony to a meeting with Daine and Numair.

            “There’s two things, and I don’t know how you’re going to feel about either of them.”

            Daine smiled. “Fair warning, but we’re all so far in your debt Kel I expect we can live with it.”

            “Oh forget debts, Daine. It’s nothing to do with that, just what’s right, and needed. The first thing is that Ebony asked me if darkings can become Guild apprentices and journeymen.” Daine’s eyebrows shot up and Kel held up a hand. “I said I couldn’t see why not but needed to ask you.”

            “Why do you want that, Ebony? Do the others too?”

            “Yes. Fun.”

            “What sort of fun?”

            “Go with merchants. Go on ships. Show letters between places. Work with mortals. Not spy. Communicate. Guild give _status_. _Rights_. Guild protect darkings. Darkings have fun.”

            Daine sat back, looking thoughtful. “That’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard from a darking. Guild journeymen, eh? Journeydarkings, anyway. I’m not their guardian, Kel, but it sounds fine to me.”

            “You’re their conscience, Daine. Which brings me to those winds the Yamanis met. Why would mages mess with weather out there?”

            Numair frowned. “Good question. I think mages must have been messing somewhere else and the effects got out of control.”

            “Mmm, but _where_? Daine, have you heard from Aly?”

            “No—we can’t have that. All else aside, Alanna would be wanting to be maternal all the time.”

            Kel grinned. “I don’t disagree—it’s why I wanted something ordinary for darkings to do, and ship-to-shore communication would be a boon for any trade fleet. But if there’s been a magical storm in the Copper Isles I want Ebony to tell us, if he knows. The timeway likes its storms.”

            “That’s a thought.” Numair was still frowning.

            “Ebony?”

            “Not mind. Mortals worry. Darkings know all darkings know.”

            “Which is the problem, but I don’t think I mind this time. Numair?”

            “Nor me, Magelet. Magical storms are assassination weapons. Go ahead, Ebony.”

            “Storm sink boat, kill Dunevon, others. Aly sad. Think storm magical. Think Imajane. Crooked God meddle. All Rittevon mages killed after.”

            Numair blinked and Kel swallowed. “Dunevon was just a boy. Numair, can you scry that storm?”

            He nodded grimly. “If magic killed a king there’ll be traces.”

            “Do it, please. Then we need to see the King.”

            The storm _had_ been magical, and the Copper Isles clearly the centre of disturbance. Jonathan didn’t like it, nor Prince Eitaro or any remaining Councillors, though Kel was careful to say she believed there to be divine interest on both sides there, and Lord Sakuyo to be allied with Kyprioth against the Rittevons. The King nodded.

            “I wouldn’t be _for_ the Rittevons for love nor money. Under them the Isles have been trouble for everyone. Josiane was cracked, and if Imajane murdered her nephew she’s no better. What’s our response?”

            The result, after firespell communication with Emperor Kaddar and His Imperial Majesty, a strain even for Numair at those distances, was a Tortallan and Carthaki ban on trade with the Isles until King Dunevon’s murderers were caught and duly punished. With longstanding tensions over fishing grounds there wasn’t very much Yamani trade with the Isles but that too would cease. It was all Kel could do, but she thought there was a smile on Lord Sakuyo’s face in his shrine the next morning.

            Kel’s Seabeth-and-Seajen grandmother was almost as well-behaved as the Yamanis, though it took intervention. The old lady had arrived with a sizeable retinue the same day as Prince Eitaro and just in time to see Kel taking leave of Quenuresh, who stayed to be introduced. Merian of Seabeth-and-Seajen had the spine Ilane and Kel had inherited and stayed on her feet, but Quenuresh’s promise to see Kel at her wedding, and a cheery salute to Barzha and Hebakh, watching from a gable, had her staring. Later in the evening, after many presentations, Kel overheard a piercing whisper to her Mama about the dubiety, not to say disgrace, of hasty marriage to an incomplete younger son and such woeful lack of control over an underage child who could surely do better. She was reflectively feeding Bonedancer samples of Yuki’s pickles, of which it seemed to approve, and hearing the pain in her Mama’s soft reply walked over to the old woman with a gaze that brought silence and a slow flush.

            “Grandma, I’ve faced the Graveyard Hag and her hyena, so you really don’t scare me anymore, and underage or not I now rank you. So do Papa and Anders, of course, and your daughter, not that anyone could tell. I don’t care a hoot what you think of me or Dom, but I care very much that you always hurt Mama and I won’t stand for it. She and Papa are going with Prince Eitaro tomorrow to the _Drachifethe_ and you can go too, to speak to the statues as one old dragon to another and learn some kindness as well as better manners. Or I’ll have stormwings carry you back to Seabeth in a spidren net and you can be vicious to people there.”

            Bonedancer leaned forward as if to tweak the old woman’s nose before clattering its beak, and though her Mama had hands over her mouth Kel didn’t bother to conceal a smile.

            “Succinctly put, Bonedancer. And even you must acknowledge it to be your senior, Grandma, as all the immortals are. Even Amiir’aan’s more than twice your age, whatever you’ve decided it is today, so if you’ve any argument it needs to involve more than supposed seniority. Meantime, I need Mama for something so we’ll say goodnight.”

            She wasn’t going to leave her mother to cope with the one person in the world she couldn’t deal with and took her arm. The night was wonderfully warm, the terrace crowded with Yamanis; Bonedancer flapped over to investigate and they headed for Lalasa’s rooms where Kel’s wedding dress was almost finished. Ilane was silent until they were in the tunnel; when she did speak her voice wasn’t steady though whether with laughter or tears was hard to tell.

            “Sweeting, that was splendid but I don’t think it’ll help. I’m sorry you heard her moaning but I can cope with it.”

            “You shouldn’t have to, Mama, and you won’t if you get her on the _Drachifethe_.  Ask the statues for Lord Sakuyo’s blessing on her.”

            They found Lalasa talking to Patricine, Adie, and Orie, and besides female conversation a fitting was clearly called for. Kel didn’t mind as it made her Mama happy, and her sisters’ exclamations at her scars were a small price. More importantly, her Grandma did, stiff-necked, visit _Drachifethe_ , and came back very subdued and distinctly more inclined to laugh, often to her own surprise. For as long as Kel could remember she had inhibited and worried others with withering disapproval; Mindelan delight in her overthrow became a catalyst for pervasive good humour, and collective enjoyment of new guests.

            Tired as it was of visitors New Hope approved these, for they were Lady Kel’s and Captain Dom’s personal guests and a good impression was needed. For Kel the nerve-racking bit was Dom’s family, but his parents and brother couldn’t have been nicer and were far too goggle-eyed to voice any doubts. Duchess Wilina arrived with them, and her warmth to Kel helped, but once the Masbolles sensed the atmosphere and saw Kel was friendly as well as a dragon-riding, king-slaying legend, they relaxed into the cheerful bunch one would expect of people related to Dom and Neal. Most of Kel’s friends were at New Hope already but Ferghal returned and a Corus contingent came with her Maids, Gower and Salma, Stefan Groomsman, Master Orman and his family, Master Randall with his, and not entirely to her surprise Jerrold Tinker, passing as boss of the accompanying wagon train, laden with who knew what. Coram and Rispah were in the party, as were George and Tkaa, escorting Holloran. With the royal family and half the Council present, and the Yamani delegation occupying an entire, reconfigured and redecorated barrack, there was precious little space within the walls but rooms in the cliffs for all. Alanna collected her husband with Coram and Rispah, and Kel took the Rogue to one of the small rooms in the corral headquarters she’d kept back against emergencies.

            “Keeping me under your eye, Kel?”

            “Not in the least, Jer. Go where you will. You should say hello to Thayet, Roald, and Shinko. Add Jonathan and make up the set.” He grinned. “I thought we might be glad of a place to talk privately.”

            “That we might. I’m here in vulgar curiosity and to wish you and your man well, not that you’re short of good wishes. But I hear you’ve opened an establishment to rival the _Dancing Dove_.”

            “No, to complement it. The _Smugglers’ Rest_ is run by ex-smugglers, Jer—did you hear that too? The bridge put them out of business—no help for it—so I found them alternative occupation. I can find that for others too, at need—but permanent occupations, yes? New Hope’s not a hinterland farm run by someone’s brother.”

            He laughed. “I hear you. And if what I hear about big dogs in your woods is true I’d be a fool not to. I like that offer—retirement can be a problem in my people’s line of work.”

            “Fine. Just don’t send anyone those dogs will chase. They _are_ the Wild Hunt, Jer. I’m not joking—the road _will_ be safe and that’s their charge, but while they’ll not touch the innocent anyone with a bad enough stain on their conscience will attract them and judgement will be out of my hands.”

            “And what’s bad enough?”

            “Collect stories of the Hunt and work it out. If Wuodan turns up while you’re here—he’s the lead hound, as Lord Weiryn’s the Huntsman—I’ll introduce you. Or ask the Crooked God to check, if you trust him and he’s not too busy in the Copper Isles. I met him, by the way, and _I_ wouldn’t trust him with a handkerchief, never mind anyone’s life. But you know, really—the Hunt doesn’t chase pickpockets or even thieves. It’s the violent, and I don’t mean rushers—those who kill for gain or hate, or because they like it. I know one story where a man who killed a faithful ass is Hunted, and I believe it. Another about kidnappers, with the child returned alive, and one about rape, so it’s not just killing. It’s things that make you sick to think of.” She held up a hand as his mouth opened. “Heartsick, soulsick, not just gutsick after the deed. There can be need to kill, gods know. Since we last met, Jer, I’ve killed more men than I can count, and Wuodan lets me pass. Look at a list of my page year and Roald’s too, sometime. And you could say I did it for gain—it’s brought me enough. But not my own gain, and the gods know I’ve never gloated in it—enough of them have had a good rummage to check, believe me. Wuodan’s more interested in the heart than reasons, I think, but it comes to the same thing.”

            “No-one a dog would instinctively growl at. That’s clear, Kel. I’ve no-one seeking retirement just now, but you’ve all the men with cancelled mage-marks becoming New Hopers and wanting families to move north, so there’ll be folk along by the by.”

            “And welcome. There’s lifetimes of work to be done. Any honest pair of hands is, if they’re not forsworn in coming or abandoning anyone they shouldn’t. Do me one favour, though?”

            “Glad to. Probably.”

            She grinned. “We’ll see. Make sure you meet as many immortals as you can, especially Quenuresh and Queen Barzha. Anyone coming here _has_ to be able to cope. If you think someone won’t—dissuade them? I’ll expel if I have to but I’d rather not have that kind of trouble in the first place.”

            “Fair enough, though I think you’d be surprised at how attitudes to immortals are changing. There’s three paintings everyone who can use a brush is copying as fast as they can. One’s of you firing a great bow at a siege machine of some kind that’s burning, from that rock above us, with a griffin beside you and a strange bird above, another’s you and that spidren-mage watching a dragon, with basilisks and ogres beside you and Scanrans falling down underneath, and the third’s got you with a glaive at Maggur’s throat. They’re selling to everyone, rich and poor.”

            Kel was horrified. “You’re joking? Where did they come from?”

            “I don’t know, Kel, but they’re very good. One of your Maids has the originals—says she was given them by an old man in Mutt Piddle Lane, who said they were a gift for you she should show to everyone, then went off laughing. No-one else saw him but she got them somewhere, and she’s paying all the fees for copying them to Lalasa, charging the rich much more, so I’ve not interfered.”

            “An old man, laughing in Mutt Piddle Lane. I just bet he was.”

            “You know him then?”

            “Oh, I think so. Have you got these monstrosities?”

            “No, but you’re getting them as a wedding present.” Kel gnashed her teeth and he grinned. “Tough. Comes with your territory. Which reminds me, what _do_ you want for a wedding present? It’s a terrible problem.”

            “What is it with monarchs that you can’t think up wedding presents for yourselves?” She shook her head. “I’d say surprise me but that wouldn’t be wise in your case. There’s not much I still need, Jer, save children of my own, and that’s taken care of. Do something good you wouldn’t do otherwise, and mark the anniversary each year the same way.”

            “A Protector’s Day gift from the Rogue. I like the sound of that.”

            “Gah!”

            She left him laughing and went to find her Maids and see the worst, only to be politely refused as it was bad luck to see presents before a wedding. Still worse, the sums of money involved promised to become immense, and with the territory she now had she’d need it, whatever the embarrassment. And as if Sakuyo’s jokes weren’t bad enough, an idle king had been chasing carvers, and a final _Drachifethe_ panel for the steps was underway while the score already completed were being petrified in radiant colours. Kawit had known how to fix the beauty Kitten could bring to stone and the results were spectacular. Icelight duplicates were being created; the originals were going up along the wall of the steps, meaning even Kel’s retreat to the Eyrie now confronted her repeatedly with herself being ludicrously heroic.

            Then again, she didn’t need to retreat to the Eyrie because she and Dom had a house—a strange, wonderful mansion, unlike anything anywhere. Much of the available ashlar having gone into the _Drachifethe_ or been appropriated by dragons the builders made up the shortfall with beautifully faced scree and finstone rubble, as well as custom-cut blocks, and the result was extremely elegant. A triangular compound was marked by a low wall within which the surface had been turfed; the house was a wide U with one limb bent in, surrounding a deeper level, also turfed and studded with the tiny white flowers which had spread overnight once one had been transplanted from the green.

            The shorter, bent limb faced terrace and shrines at an angle, with a formal entrance, broad steps patterned in finstone and limestone curving left and right to meet at one of Geraint’s perrons and deliver people through a portico to a suite of nobly proportioned reception rooms with wide balconies for summer use. Even Kel had to agree there would be balls, and immortals needed space; besides, the rooms were beautiful and had glass windows—about which she could have kicked herself because she’d seen glass blown and knew what it was made of, just as she’d known basilisks could liquefy as well as petrify. Glassmaking hadn’t occurred to anyone until Amiir’aan asked an innocent question, but would be another Guild craft and the panes facing the shrines and central greensward, doubled within wooden frames for winter insulation, were a striking sample. Above one end of the reception rooms were offices, and above the other a room for exercise and training when it was wet—large enough to pattern dance and conduct a class.

            The base, parallel to the fin, was a private apartment. Taller-than-mortal visitors were accommodated but the rooms were family spaces. Kel had spoken to Irnai, offering adoption, but the girl declined, saying she remembered her parents and would stay theirs, but she did like the idea of living in the house, and had fallen in love with a curved bedroom from which the shrines could just be seen. With Kitten’s help she was trying out colour schemes, and if Kel and Dom both wished they could do more it was a boon to see her happy and looking only her true age, most of the time.

            The longer limb, parallel to the last barrack, consisted of guest rooms for mortals and immortals. Had anyone asked Kel if forty would suffice she’d have thought they’d lost their minds, but having installed her kin there weren’t many spare. Demadria and Gavin had come with Ferghal, Avinor in tow, so besides parents and Grandma there were seven siblings with six spouses and fifteen children; as well as Dom’s parents and brother, and, given how crowded Neal and Yuki were in their quarters, Baird and Wilina. Other guests she left where they were, save Raoul and Buri, and Lalasa and Tomas, protesting but glad of a larger space for the wedding-dress and final fussings about it.

            The whole stupendous thing had gone from a building-site Kel was studiously ignoring to finished-enough-to-present while she’d been at _Drachifethe_ for a few days early in June signing a treaty with the spidrens laired by the Smiskir. She hadn’t had time to ride up to their valley but Barzha had flown over it, Scarlet relaying the view so she and the spidren could agree boundaries. The immortals had been holed up, hunting game and avoiding the war, not eating Clan Swithtrem or its livestock, but Kel sent that clanchief as well as Hamrkeng copies of the treaty with a bland note about prevention and cure. As she left boatmen were pleasingly practicing shooting the bridge and she spent the ride talking diplomacy with her Papa, who’d come to observe, so the delegation waiting gleefully to present the wonder-house took her by surprise and left her very emotional. Her people enjoyed it no end, and they were all wonders too, so it didn’t take long for delight to join overwhelmedness; nor, as the main bedroom already boasted an enormous bed, to begin a process Dom called blessing the rooms that promised to be very enjoyable.

            All in all, therefore, things were going smoothly, and the only hitches were unexpected guests. Three days before Midsummer Buri went into labour and was delivered of a boy; Baird was astonished at the ease of it in a woman of her age bearing a first child but Neal simply pointed to the Goddess’s spiral, Buri wasn’t complaining, and Raoul was adorably entranced by his son; the only problem was that the dress Buri had intended to wear to the wedding was suddenly too large and not designed for nursing. Lalasa rose to the emergency, and Alan as Raoul’s squire had the job of making sure his knight master remembered to eat, sleep, and turn up when and where he should, so that new arrival was readily accommodated. His parents had long since decided a boy would be Alan Raoul Jonathan, and with godsparents to hand—Jonathan, Thayet, and George—they thought an immediate nameday called for and it happened in a whirl on Midsummer Eve, Holloran presiding. Later that day a less expected arrival was Ragnar Ragnarsson and some clanchiefs from the delegation, who felt a clanchief shouldn’t wed without others to do them honour. Kel thought about tearing her hair and made a note to get a spellmirror for the bridge guards, but she liked Ragnar and still had a few guest rooms, so Scanrans bemused by a remarkable building very little of which had been there when they’d left six weeks before joined the mix. Her sisters and Duchess Wilina were taken aback and what her grandma thought remained mercifully unknown, but her nieces and nephews were delighted, Ragnar and his fellows were all—interestingly—men who dealt well with excited and curious children, and she had other things to do on her last unwedded evening.

            Fanche and Lalasa were hosting a female dinner for her, with guests from Thayet and Cricket, her Mama and sisters, Yuki with Ryokel, and Daine with Sarralyn, to Reben Carpenter’s wife, resident less than a month. What Dom and men in general were doing Kel had no idea but Neal and Owen had been seen conspiring with Wolset so she considered herself well out of whatever it was, mischievously invited the Scanrans to tag along with Baird if they wanted, and let herself be escorted to the messhall by Yuki and Shinko. The food was exceptional, company sentimental, conversation frequently lewd, and laughter loud; only the speeches were less than welcome in their remorseless exaggerations by people who knew far too much about her life anyway, but she was getting used to that and kept her obligatory reply to heartfelt observations— first, that she’d found the hard way that being a living lover was vastly better than being a dead virgin, and second, that climbing into bed with Dom had been just about the only thing she’d been able to do entirely by herself in the whole saga of New Hope, so the toast was to them all. The talk ran late and stayed lewd but with her Mama’s help she slipped away in reasonable time for a solid night’s sleep, and dreamed of a future studded with tiny white flowers that smelled of blossom.

 

* * * * *

 

Not even her wedding could keep Kel from dawn glaive practice. Pattern dancing brought inner calm and she lost herself in precise movement and pure balance of body and weapon. Reaching the end she became aware of a grey-haired Yamani woman watching, glaive in hand, who bowed, offering a sparring match. Kel bowed back and took guard. At the first touch she knew this was a master and that she was being tested—but she was in good form, her deflections feather-light. No opportunity for riposte was offered, and as speed increased they crossed a boundary Yamanis spoke of—actual blade contact ceased, incipient counters leading to the abandonment of attack before it developed, movement diminishing though concentration never wavered until they were almost still save for gestural movements of their glaives. Kel had never reached that state before, though she’d seen it as a child in Imperial displays, and had no idea how it ended until her opponent repeated a move in eyeblink succession, and disengaged, stepping back to breathe deeply. Applause broke out from watching Yamanis, including Yuki and Shinko, standing with Prince Eitaro, and Kel hastily bowed as properly as she could with glaive in hand. To her immense surprise he bowed back, imperial-to-noble, and came forward, formal mode softened by pleasure.

            “That was very fine, Lady Keladry. I have never before seen any but a Yamani achieve the perfect state.”

            “Your Imperial Highness is too gracious. This one has never before achieved anything like it.”

            The grey-haired woman smiled. “Only for lack of an able opponent.”

            Eitaro nodded. “There must be two _sensei_. But I am rude—Lady Keladry, allow me to make known to you Hayato- _sensei_.”

            Kel offered a deep bow, student-to-master, for she knew that name and if she’d had any idea the _sensei_ was among His Imperial Highness’s retinue would have sought her out. Hayato returned a bow of equals.

            “Wrong mode, my Lady, for you demonstrate mastery, as Her Royal and Imperial Highness believed you would, given opportunity. And without formal instruction since you were ten, I believe. Commendable.”

            Flattered, Kel knew her limits. “You are too generous, Hayato- _sensei_. My skill is far short of yours.”

            “Not so far, my Lady, and not generous at all. As His Imperial Highness says, only _sensei_ reach that state. I shall report it to the Temple of Weapons as I am required to do.”

            Kel couldn’t argue with that, bowed again properly, and was applauded again, lowering her eyes and wishing she had her _shukusen_. She regretted she couldn’t bring herself to wear it regularly, but Runnerspring’s hand intruded too much. Shinko was smiling and Kel’s brain caught up—the test had been a wedding present of a very Yamani kind: had she not achieved the required state the honour of sparring with Hayato- _sensei_ would have pleased her, and as she had she began her wedding day with a new status that would have interesting consequences when she and Dom visited the Islands. Meantime there were congratulations to accept, which was fine because as what had happened sank in she was feeling far too pleased with herself and the world to mind.

            After thanking Hayato, Shinko, and the Prince Kel made excuses and went to change. In the usual course of a wedding day she’d spend the whole morning being dressed and made-up, but need allowed her to avoid such foolishness. There was no difficulty giving everybody a view of the ceremony, but even her new reception rooms wouldn’t hold everyone present, nor the messhall. Kin and personal guests had to have priority, but there were many New Hopers who wanted to give a token or personal felicitations on the day, and after discussions with Master Oakbridge she’d invented protocol to suit, to his scandalised relief. She dressed in her kimonos, with Heliana’s help, thought hard before squaring shoulders and adding the _shukusen_ , and after breakfast went back to the terrace before the shrines to sit with Dom, available to whoever wanted.

            It took all morning but her people appreciated what she was doing and kept things brisk—fortunately, as most of New Hope’s population, civilian and military, seemed to be among them as well as friends with their own gifts. The presents were mostly hand-made—woven, carved, crafted, or drawn; if somewhat motley, given from the heart and very welcome with the rooms she had to furnish. Heliana kept a list, and Tobe, Loesia, Gydo, and an earnest Meech ferried items to a display in one of the house’s reception rooms while keeping Kel and Dom supplied with tea; her siblings, parents, and in-laws-to-be were present in a loose crowd—meeting liegers of their kin, Kel realised with a shock Dom shared when she murmured the thought.

            In one way it was easy for her to understand what he thought of becoming a count because her status as a countess still seemed largely unreal; but it had been hard for her to grasp the idea of status coming _from_ her, and she’d worried the Countess-and-Protector would stand in his light when Dom and Kel should be side-by-side this day. He didn’t seem to mind, content to be equal in private but woman and husband in public; she didn’t think it right but had taken her Mama’s advice.

            “You’re not going to like this, sweeting, but you’re his support as he’s yours, and you’ve to let him grow, not try to stretch and wrap him round. I know it’s new to you too, but you’ve been a commander more than two years, and he a captain less than one. Remember how hard you found thinking past your modesty, and give him the same credit.” Ilane smiled wickedly. “I doubt his pride’ll be bruised, but if someone does manage it you can make amends later by being very accommodating.”

            “Mama!”

            She thought it sound advice, though, and fun besides. The dynamics of—she didn’t want to say dominance because it was mutual, but initiating things in their relationship—was complicated, woven around her awakened needs, physical strength, and long conviction of undesirability, and his wound, that he still believed more ugly than honourable, with the deep sense of unworthiness he’d acquired with it. Latterly, combat strain and her self-loathing after the siege had been in play as well, but the gifts of Lords Mithros and Sakuyo promised improvements. She’d told him of her pregnancy, making him very happy, and took advantage of the present conversation to mention Beltane tradition and tell her Mama, who squeaked and hugged her, crackling excitement.

            The presence of veterans and men he commanded among their well-wishing liegers was helping Dom, she thought—military command and mutual respect offering a base for the greater step. It was she who’d taken liege-oaths but he and the child they’d made were implicit in them, and that made him feel in receipt of unearned command as well as unearned gifts; but there were lovingly made and grateful presents specifically for him as well. On the morning after Beltane she’d made it clear calling her ‘My Lady Countess’ was a bad idea and he would remain ‘Cap’n Dom’, as he was now, not become ‘My Lord Count’—though she intended to try it on him at least once when he was in no position to object.

            There were inevitably some troublesome presents. Neal had written several bad _haiku_ he insisted on reading in a worse accent and Yamani fans were in use for a while; less forgivably, he started an artistic interlude because Ragnar insisted on declaiming a passage from a saga-in-progress about Kel, narrating the destruction of the trebuchet. Most New Hopers could follow and Kel would have buried her head in her hands if Yuki and Keiichi hadn’t between them been providing Prince Eitaro and other Yamanis with a running translation that even without alliteration sounded so peculiar she had a hard time not laughing. Instead she had to look impressed, thank a grinning Ragnar, _and_ repeat her haiku about the Emperor’s glaives and Lord Sakuyo’s grace when Prince Eitaro asked, though how he knew about the latter was a mystery Yuki would answer for.

            The Scanran saga cued the paintings from the Maid who was giving them on behalf of all, and Kel had no choice but to allow them to be displayed—at which point a long silence fell broken only by shuffling feet as people rotated in to see. Kel just stared, and while every bit as horrified as she’d anticipated had to concede Jer had been right—they were very good, and she had no doubt of a divine hand in their making. They heroised her ridiculously, but besides vivid colour and arresting composition there were things everywhere that made them much more than hagiography. The first overemphasised the great warrior but also immortals who stood alongside, recognisably Quenuresh, Var’istaan, and Kuriaju, who all came to look; Junior could be made out high above the illusory dragon, the colour of Firebreath, whose swirling form with the floating runes connected the observing group to fearful Scanrans, shown looking up with expressions of pious awe while others, including Maggur and a recognisable Genlith quailed.

            The second painting was just as bad in making her look beautiful and stern as well as strong and noble, but again did more. Ebony and Junior no longer anchored her feet, accurately bloody as footprints showed, but respectively occupied one shoulder, echoing the bow’s curve, and stood in streamlined elegance at her side like a flame-coloured bird dog eager to fetch the trebuchet. The incandescent engine was a blaze of white it almost hurt to look at, but if you did details emerged from the dazzle—frame, treadmill, and counterweight box, though mercifully the giants who’d died within were lost in the conflagration. Above, the thunderhead towered with dire menace, and against a jag of lighting glowing in one lobe of the storm a sunbird hovered, drably accurate.

            The third painting continued the themes, a sunlit Kel spearheading the Tortallan charge to place her gleaming glaive at Maggur’s shadowed throat, but stormwings were already there, a glittering phalanx in the sunlight, and Barzha was coming in behind Maggur, bright and terrible in the darkness that enfolded him. Junior was again present, a splash of colour against black clouds, and the centaurs, creating the tunnel of arrows she’d ridden through. Other Tortallans were identifiable—Alanna, Raoul, Wyldon, Brodhelm, Voelden, Seaver, and, heartstoppingly, Merric with Rogal at his side; beyond them faces blurred in a swirling grey Kel was convinced was meant to be ghosts, and in which she found herself thinking she could see this or that dead face, Einur, Fulcher and Gil Lofts, other Tortallans who lived on in her dreams, but civilians and Scanrans too, the dead of Rathhausak, even Freja Haraldsdottir.

            The Yamanis were as transfixed as everyone and Kel thought it better to face the music, so having respectfully asked Prince Eitaro and Lord Kiyomori to attend she had the Maid relate her tale of the bright-eyed old man who’d come unseen to a crowded Corus slum and departed laughing. After Kel reminded them of the godbow and its quiver she asked Daine to explain what a sunbird was and confirm the second painting’s accuracy in that respect, even though the birds never left the divine realms. Carefully neutral questioning elicited the fact that _everyone_ saw ghosts in the grey—their own ghosts with reason to loathe Maggur, if they had them, and a strong impression of vengeful dead if they didn’t. She turned to a white-faced Lord Kiyomori.

            “They must have been painted by someone who was here, my Lord, an unknown painter of great skill and purpose working in secrecy, and they turn up in a mysterious old man’s arms in a Corus slum, given to a Protector’s Maid. It adds up, don’t you think? Especially as beyond the jest of Quenuresh’s illusion the paintings are a multiple joke—on me, because I find them embarrassing, but also on any prejudiced against immortal allies or female warriors, and in putting Junior—the griffin—in all of them. I can tell you what the three of them are called too, I think— _Even thunder stills to hear Him ease His lungs._ It certainly fits.”

            Kiyomori was having that po-faced priests’ problem in collocating ‘divine’ and ‘joke’, which Kel thought a poor show for a celebrant of Lord Sakuyo, and seemed to think a Yamani god would never employ a _gaijin_ style, but Keiichi, Takemahou- _sensei_ and others were nodding sharply, as was Prince Eitaro, voice imperially sober.

            “Lord Sakuyo has been known to honour his Blessed with art, and if the Blessed is Tortallan it makes sense for the art to be so, Kiyomori. And the divine is greater than Yaman—we claim Lord Sakuyo, not define him and it would be impious to try. Besides, this full _gaikokujin_ style is better for battle scenes, I think—our Muromachi monochromes would do them scant justice and even the best Kamakura _emaki_ would lack this colour and vividness. I am only sorry His Imperial Majesty cannot see them.”

            Kel didn’t have quite that detached a view but nodded. “I am sorry for that too, Your Imperial Highness. I would have them copied for him, as I understand they have been in Corus, but I fear the results would not be the same.”

            There was discussion of a court artist who might be sent, into which Jonathan and Thayet were drawn, and eventually the paintings were taken to the house and over Kel’s muttered protests hung in the main reception room. Then it was back to receive more presents. With great ceremony Prince Eitaro presented a gift on behalf of the emperor, paired swords for Kel, _katana_ and _ko-wazikashi_ , resembling the swords of duty and law her Mama had saved and implicitly recognising her as samurai, and a _katana_ for Dom; Kel replied properly, privately giving thanks more to Cricket for coaching than the emperor for swords she’d probably never use except for display but would have to practice with all the same. Jonathan and Thayet made their announcements of works and scholarship, which brought a burst of applause, and had tokens for the day—a pair of gold signet rings with Kel’s triple-bordered owl and crossed glaives. Keiichi had found a beautifully illustrated old copy of Hajikoru’s _Fourteen Moonlight Dances with the Naginata_ and others also chose books; an edition of the _Hamrkengsaga_ from Harailt, a hysterically inaccurate treatise on dragons from Numair with splendid pictures showing improbable beasts, and a more accurately illustrated edition of Orchan from Wyldon and his family—who had to Kel’s delight come from Cavall. The new scar across his face had healed well, and there was an odd look in his eyes as he watched Owen with Margarry on his arm present Kel with a silver hairbrush and, grey eyes level, Dom with a very fine cane.

            “I had the notion you might want to grow your hair, Kel. Dreamed it and it seemed right. Short hair needs brushing too, so it was safe. And I know you don’t like using a cane, Dom, but I hoped you wouldn’t mind a nice one and it _is_ practical. I’m no good with books or things like that so I thought I’d chance it and my Lord agreed. I hope you don’t mind.”

            Kel was holding her breath but it was hard to be offended with Owen, and she and Dom had spoken about his reluctance to display the consequence of his injury; for a sergeant he was right that needing a cane undermined authority, but for a more senior commander that wasn’t true, and for a noble it had little effect if there was respect. She could see the emotional argument chasing within him for a second until he smiled and embraced Owen and she breathed again.

            Jewellery was also popular, with a beautiful copper-and-emerald necklace from Alanna and George, who murmured that things overseas seemed to be coming along nicely, a diamond one from Baird and Wilina, and enough earrings to oblige Kel to have her ears pierced—which Yuki and Salma, among the guilty donors, knew full well she’d always been reluctant to do because she didn’t see the point of adorning her plainness and it involved a hot needle. There were less usual items—gleaming beaten-copper armbands from Ragnar and the clanchiefs, matching silver bracelets and anklets from her sisters with pointed suggestions that she didn’t always have to wear breeches or floor-length skirts, brooches, jewelled pins, even a tiara, which she’d have thought very presumptuous if it hadn’t been from Shinko in the red gold found in Yaman, which caught the auburn in her hair and from others’ exclamations she had to assume looked good.

            Kel had had a long conversation with her parents, dissuading them from extravagance on her behalf when Mindelan’s treasury was under strain, and another with Dom’s family, not carrying such a burden but comfortable rather than wealthy, and willing to limit their gifts to ownership of Butter, hitherto a loan, and a fine cloak. The worst of it was that the grinning horse was there, with Peachblossom, Alder, and Hoshi in support—animal behaviour Tortallans used to Daine had come to expect but that induced excitement among Yamanis and Scanrans. But she and Dom had still faced the conundrum of the bride’s and groom’s reciprocal gifts, which didn’t matter especially to either of them but did to others. They’d scratched heads and got nowhere; with Lalasa’s arrival they’d commissioned for one another sets of really comfortable working clothes, warm and durable with enough pockets in what each thought the right places and sizes, but sufficiently formal to satisfy the sumptuary needs of office, with New Hope’s arms on the breast. Others could think what they liked, and they exchanged boxes happily; Kel was telling Kitten about the contents of hers when the dragonet’s snout snapped skyward and she sighed, looking at Dom.

            “Here we go, love. How many are coming, Kit?”

            _Grandsire is alone._

            “Right.” She went to the terrace and hoisted her voice into command mode. “People! Incoming dragon—Lord Diamondflame. You know he can make himself space but seeing my flagpole hop sideways gives me a turn so can you clear the west side of the green, please?”

            They didn’t need telling twice and Kel was able to cross to Prince Eitaro and his retinue, and explain. Diamondflame’s silhouette was rapidly enlarging and they were inclined to listen when she respectfully made suggestions.

            “Lord Diamondflame is a friend as well as most noble, Your Imperial Highness, and by no means without humour, but remember he is as much older than we as he is larger, and as greater in mind as in body.”

            Yamanis didn’t have the vast Scanran pool of sagas about dragons but it wasn’t for nothing the Imperial sigil was a dragon though none had been seen in the Islands for centuries, and as Diamondflame slid gracefully onto the green Prince Eitaro’s eyes were as wide as his shoulders were straight. Diamondflame settled into his crouch.

            _Greetings, Protector._

            She saw Yamanis go taut as that mindvoice rolled into their heads.

            “And to you, my Lord. You are most welcome on this wedding day. I believe you know most of my guests, but not all. May I make them known to you?”

            _Of course._

            He did seem to be here only as a guest though Kel doubted she’d get away without a serious conversation and wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She led the Prince, Lord Kayomori, Takemahou- and Hayata- _sensei_ , and Keichii down to be presented and gravely greeted, before looking at a quivering Kitten, nobly controlling herself, and grinning permission. Seeing anything bouncing into one of Diamondflame’s paws with a trill of delight and hearing that mindvoice filled with affection might trouble anyone’s sensibilities and Kel was interested to see even Kayomori was reassured, and Eitaro as charmed as Keiichi and both _sensei_. They had also seen New Hopers, Scanrans, and other guests, while profoundly respectful, at ease, and unperturbed horses, dogs, sparrows, and marmalade cat. In any case, one necessity dealt with she turned to the next—the couples she’d handfasted who were sharing her wedding day.

            The orphaned Goatstrack man and Anak’s Eyrie girl had decided to live in Anak’s Eyrie when they could, and Kel gave them a landgrant including the girl’s dead family’s one field and several more, as well as a useful purse, her first. The older Tirrsmont and Rathhausak pair wanted to stay in New Hope and received rights to a cliff dwelling, with a purse. Fanche and Saefas also wanted to stay at New Hope; Kel had every intention they should, as stewards of the township, and appointing them so gave them an estate at the northern end of the valley, far enough to allow retreat, near enough for convenience, and if Samiaju was right including in lands spreading over the western saddle coal deposits that would give them a source of income beyond the handsome purse she added. There would need to be more such grants in future, but this sound start while stupefying Fanche and Saefas was immensely well received. 

            She and Dom took all three couples to join the very high table for lunch, and she could have blessed Jonathan and Thayet, who worked hard to put all at ease. Fanche and Saefas had grown used to high company but for the others, however familiar a sight King and Queen had become, and however rarefied the atmosphere that had surrounded them, to dine so as centres of attention was the event of a lifetime, and they rose to it. The honours done them continued as soon as brides and grooms had a chance to change. Faced with collective insistence Kel had reluctantly agreed to officiate but roped in Holloran so there was at least one competent divine involved; in the nature of orphans and widows the brides lacked anyone to give them away so Kel had deputed Roald for the younger woman, Jonathan for the Tirrsmont widow, who went very pink to find herself on the King’s arm, and Duke Baird, of whom she approved, for Fanche. The ceremonies were to be in unbroken sequence, and they were ready to begin when Lord Weiryn’s and the Green Lady’s shrine began to glow—not the usual dazzle but nevertheless, and Kel paused, glancing at Daine in mute question.

            “No idea, Kel. Da might be toning down the drama but I’ve never seen him manifest with that little silver.”

            “Perhaps it is just a blessing.” Holloran sounded hopeful and Kel grinned. “Did Lord Weiryn say he would be, um, attending?”

            “We didn’t speak last time I saw him, Your Reverence, but he knows he’s always welcome to drop in.”

            “Ah.”

            _There are gods walking up the roadway, Protector._

            Diamondflame sounded surprised and Kel had time to shrug before her head swung towards a distant, frantic shout from one of the skeleton duty guard, followed by the sound of amused gods declaring themselves under the Honesty Gate. They swept into view and her breath caught. She’d never seen Lord Weiryn in finery before, and from a sidelong glance at Daine suspected it might be a first, but he did look splendid in a long robe that danced with greens of the forest. Animal shapes chased through it, matching the flickering embroideries of the Green Lady, and his antlers gleamed silver among their usual velvet brown nap. Wuodan and a hound only a little smaller Kel was sure was his mate loped beside them, and her mind went into overdrive.

            “Couples, there’ll be a short delay. Your Reverence, you’ve met them already, so excuse me a moment, please.” Her voice drew attention even with that competition. “Your Majesties, Your Imperial Highness, would you of Your graces join me?” She repeated herself in her highest formal Yamani. “And you, Lord Kiyomori, of your grace as _kamunushi_.”

            Majesties and Highnesses weren’t supposed to be ordered about, however disguised as supplications, but Jonathan wasn’t objecting, nor Eitaro, and Kiyomori was collected, goggling, by the Prince’s strong hand. As they reached her he spoke swiftly in the mode of imperial-to-friend.

            “Keladry- _sensei_ , how should I address them if called to do so?”

            Kel fought a brief battle to a draw. “I asked the same thing about dragons before I met Lord Diamondflame’s senior, my Prince, and was told _politely_. I believe the advice holds good, and sincerity and good cheer matter more than piety. As a god pointed out to me while hauling me up from making obeisance, you miss a great deal grovelling.”

            Eitaro looked startled but gave an appreciative nod, squaring his shoulders; there was no time for more. Gods and hounds passed Diamondflame, gravely nodding and being nodded at, and neared the steps. Kel curtseyed, drawing a breath that turned out to be unneeded.

“Protector.” Weiryn’s voice was even more gorgeous and she realised he was happy, though another note glided within his words. “No formal greetings, please, at such a fortunate meeting.” They came up the steps and his hand reached to caress her cheek in benison, warmth flaring through her. “We visited _Drachifethe_ , as my brother Mithros tells me we may, and have been walking your woods to meditate on the experience. Wuodan’s and Frige’s good noses told us of a feast, reminding us of a wedding day deserving many blessings.”

            Kel knew barracks’ lawyering when she heard it but as she’d been the one to recommend it to Lord Mithros she could hardly complain—and only Daine, Numair, and from the look in his eyes Diamondflame knew enough to understand what was being said. Daine was valiantly swallowing joyful laughter, and circumspection was clearly called for not to annoy a senior officer willing to turn a blind eye only so far. The Green Lady leant to kiss Kel—a friendly greeting rather than the forehead-kiss of blessing, but sending a jolt straight to her womb.

            “It is our good fortune to meet you so, Protector. _Drachifethe_ makes us think of family and love. We shall visit it often, I believe.”

            Kel found her voice. “And you will always be welcome to seek refreshment at your shrine after embracing its lesson.” She saw laughter in their eyes, which didn’t seem so deep and starry today. “But I forget my manners—King Jonathan and Queen Thayet you know, but may I make known to you His Imperial Highness Prince Eitaro noh Nakuji? And second _kamunushi_ of your brother Sakuyo, Lord Kiyomori noh Teika.”

            The Yamanis bowed, mortal to divine, but like Kel found indrawn breaths unneeded as Weiryn spoke, at once commanding and soothing in a Yamani mode Kel supposed must be divine-to-mortal, acknowledging respect, promising to convey it to Sakuyo, offering his own respects and requesting they be conveyed to His Imperial Majesty, and insisting beyond possibility of being gainsaid that he and his wife were by happy chance fellow guests at welcome weddings and formalities not needed. His speech was exquisitely aesthetic and Kel found herself certain Lord Sakuyo had been eating at the Green Lady’s table in the last week or so. Needing to stay in Yamani she used the mode of friend-to-imperial, in which Yuki had coached her in case it was offered.

            “Our weddings are Mithran, of course—you remember Archpriest Holloran—but naturally take place before your shrine to honour your marriage. It seems rude to ask you to work as chance-come guests, but odd for you to stand in the congregation while your statues are called to witness. Might you stand for yourselves?”

            “Gladly, Protector.”

            Eitaro was moving back to his place before Kel could say anything, Kiyomori propelled alongside him, and she ushered the gods to their shrine—Wuodan and Frige loping alongside to speak private greetings—before going to stand by Holloran, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder and beaming at the waiting couples.

            “And on we go.”

            Having real gods instead of wooden ones didn’t make much difference to the ceremony but lent a charge to proceedings beyond even Diamondflame’s power. At the point where the gods’ blessings were asked on each couple they were promptly given, directly and on behalf of ‘our brother and sister’, necessitating an additional round of thanks. The fires leaped alight at first spark, the marigold necklaces seemed to bloom as if they still grew, and kisses were exchanged under linked divine hands from which silver drops fell while everyone felt a swirl of shared and declared passion. The cheering was exuberant, with a certain urgency, and for the last kiss, between Fanche and Saefas, was joined by a crooning from Wuodan and Frige that Kel could feel in her bones. Then at last it was done, Weiryn and the Green Lady could embrace their daughter with a joy that sparkled everywhere, and all six dazed newlyweds could process through the beaming crowd to their own parties, and disappear to change into sensible clothes again while Kel and Dom retired to do the opposite.

            As Lalasa had a fair idea what Kel would tolerate she hadn’t had to endure foolish arguments about the kind of wedding dress that would have made her look like a large, frilly icebear, but even at their first meeting Lalasa had eyed her and produced a measuring string. Kel had been aware of change from the tightness of her tunics but was surprised to discover how much larger her breasts had become and didn’t think pregnancy was supposed to have such effects so quickly; Lalasa seemed convinced without asking about pregnancy that Dom was responsible and said she’d wondered if that would happen, leaving Kel to ask in puzzlement and be left thoughtfully surprised by the laughing answer. It was an enjoyable phenomenon, whatever the cause, and from Lalasa’s point-of-view made less modest styles possible despite the need to conceal Kel’s scarred shoulder; the result was a dress of exquisite simplicity and cunning cut that exposed upper shoulders and framed her strong neck, and if cleavage was still not possible there was a definite bust that made her feel more grown up than almost anything else.

            On Yuki’s wedding dress the embroidery of arms had been white-on-white, but Lalasa had insisted on doing silver and gold borders in appropriate threads, then decided the rest should be coloured too. The material didn’t want such weight of needlework so the design had been simplified into outlines; Kel had had doubts but the result was as fine as anything Lalasa had ever done, and the colours matched suspiciously well with her new signet ring, a blue-green beryl necklace her mother had insisted on giving her, and the tiara. When Lalasa insisted she try them all she expected to feel overdressed but they seemed right together, and the faces of her Mama and enormous bridal party, whom she hadn’t even bothered to try and keep out, testified that they were.

            Weeks back Kel had found Thayet, half-amused, half-distressed, refereeing a dispute between Yuki and Shinko with each insisting on surrendering to the other the position of matron of honour. Resisting the urge to bang Yamani heads together she’d declared New Hope’s known-to-be-peculiar customs allowed as many matrons of honour as the bride liked, so they could both have the job. It was Thayet’s fault it had gone further, as she’d promptly opted to join in, at which point Kel added Lalasa, and it had turned out one couldn’t then reasonably restrict bridesmaids either, apparently. The whole thing had caused hair-tearing on Lalasa’s part but it turned out Thayet and Shinko had matching white dresses and there was enough material left for her to squeeze out one for herself, under pleased protest. The principal bridesmaids were those Kel had always intended—Irnai, Loesia, and Gydo—and they had proper dresses Lalasa had planned, but there had, fortunately, been enough other Maids who sewed and a creamy cloth intended for Kel’s trousseau to make matching dresses for her seven—count them and wonder—nieces old enough to walk, whose arguments for inclusion everyone except Kel thought unimpeachable. The only good thing in the absurdity, besides making her nieces very happy and vastly relieving their mothers, was that it freed Dom to have Tobe as well as his brother as supporters, though he did declare Neal as Best Man to be unique.

            She knew she’d long treasure the look on her father’s face when she emerged at the head of the phalanx to join him. If she was going to make up protocol she might as well do it thoroughly, so she was on her mother’s arm and his look was as much for his wife, but made her heart trip. She gave him her other arm and they walked together through the portico wide enough for all abreast, and went slowly down the steps. Indrawn breaths when the crowd saw her marked a silence that rippled across the level, stretching to encompass dragons and gods until she was beginning to pass through her people, who erupted into cheering and deafening applause, with shouts of _Lady Kel_ , _Protector_ , and rising through them _New Hope, New Hope, New Hope_. It wasn’t the done thing but with royalty joining in what could she do?

            For the most part Kel kept her eyes on Dom’s, glowing back at her with everything in them—wondering knowledge, pride and humility, loving respect and admiring lust—but glances showed her sisters pleasingly stunned. Her Maids were grinning, and even good friends looking as surprised as admiring—Alanna, Raoul, Vanget, Ferghal, and Wyldon, with an expression unnervingly like her father’s. It was a final assurance that she really was looking as good as she felt, and in her innermost self something uncurled, dissolving away as happiness became complete. It had taken Conal’s death for her to forgive him the fear of heights that had so scarred her; it took only this living moment to forgive her female kin overheard remarks and direct insults that had damaged her as badly, divorcing understandings of womanhood and knighthood. Warrior, commander, lover, bride—she could be all. The price of knighthood did not include losing oneself and one’s naked, mortal worth, any more than marriage or beauty granted skill at arms to defend mate and children. She could know what it was to command and triumph on the field of battle and to tremble and surrender in Dom’s arms, to slaughter, love, and nurse, and forgave the Hag the cruelty that had shown her the falseness of her self-image. That was a thought to pursue but had brought her with her parents to the steps; noise still thundered about them. She had to speak into her parents’ ears in turn to be sure they could hear, and when they paused, loosing her arms, went up the steps alone, congratulating herself on refusing the train Lalasa had tried to persuade her was a good idea. Turning and winking at Dom she drew breath, summoning a battlefield voice.

            “Oy!” Chanting cut off with satisfactory abruptness. “It’s sweet of you all but I can’t hear myself getting married, so hush now, please.”

            She heard Diamondflame’s laugh directed to her alone and beamed down at her grinning parents, Thayet swallowing laughter behind them while Lalasa looked relieved not be deafened any more, and beckoned them all to join her. Holloran was looking similarly relieved, gods and hounds approving, and Dom was there in his beautiful matching tunic, and Tobe and Neal in their best, beaming back at her, so it was time to get on with it. Having divine eyes on one’s vows did add a certain something, and the chimes sounded extremely musical, but she was so intent on Dom and the emotion pouring from her with her voice that it wasn’t until the fire blazed with silver among all the colours of the sunbirds’ display that she realised the something was going to make itself obvious. As she and Dom lifted the marigold necklaces white flowers bloomed among orange, and when they kissed it wasn’t drops of silver that fell from the hands of Weiryn and the Green Lady but a stream that coursed in their blood like the Hunt and the power of spring. Nor was there the same cheer from the crowd because Shakith’s hawk-scream rang across the valley, far closer than usual yet flowing past her so the blazing sensation of her lips on Dom’s was undisturbed, and they could end it of their own accords and embrace, each head on the others’ shoulder, breathing in unison in the perfect silence that came as echoes died. Hands entwined, and she’d swear hearts beating in unison, they turned to Weiryn and she cocked an eyebrow in query. He laughed, speaking to all.

            “My sister marks a moment from which prophecies will spring.” He smiled. “You might call it the timeway’s acknowledgement of service.”

            Kel blinked consternation but thinking about that wasn’t going to help, it was _Drachifethe_ business, not hers, the ceremony was over, and only two thoughts were helpful. The first was to distract Lord Mithros and the other gods sure to be eavesdropping as rapidly as possible.

            “Thank you, my Lord. I believe that explanation terrifies almost as much as it confuses, but please convey my respectful thanks to the timeway and your sister all the same. Will you grace us as our first guests as husband and wife?”

            His eyes sparked. “We will, with joy.”

            She turned. “Lord Diamondflame, given your command of space, will you honour us with your company inside?”

            _With joy also, Protector._

            Embracing Dom again, lips by his ear, she could deal with the second thought— _Remember to limp, he’s got to be watching_ —and continue the first by asking her matrons and bridesmaids to usher guests after them with all due ceremony. Then she could take Dom’s arm, on the side that would need support if he were genuinely limping, and extend her own for Weiryn, smiling, Green Lady and hounds beyond him. Dom’s weight rested on her arm convincingly enough she thought he might truly have found his leg painful once she made him think about it, and a stately pace allowed Diamondflame to fall in beside the Green Lady, though how he could walk at mortal speed given his paces was another dragon mystery. However he was doing it, dragon and goddess making conversation as people got out of their way had to be a more interesting spectacle than two mortals receiving mundane congratulations. As they reached the steps and Diamondflame dropped back to let the Green Lady climb Weiryn turned to Kel, voice a murmur; the hounds cocked their heads.

            “You need not fear. My brother knew we would come.”

            “Good, but it’s not that. Trickster business.”

            “Ah. That’s another story. He still can’t find his shield and the Isles will tip any day now. But I don’t believe Domitan’s leg will concern him even if he notices, and my brother Sakuyo is a great deal closer.”

            He sounded cheerful and Kel felt relief that Weiryn knew about it all. She wasn’t so sure about Sakuyo being a great deal of anything, especially closer, but they’d reached the doorway; stepping forward with Dom and turning to invite the gods in she was confronted by the sight of Diamondflame’s head rising above the top step while his body flowed sinuously around the entire curve, his tail yet to reach the bottom one, and amusement washed worries away. The gods would notice what they noticed and do what they did; bridges could be crossed when one came to them, even by gods and dragons, and she was Domitan of Masbolle’s—of New Hope’s—wife, as he was her husband, and it was _wonderful_.

            Her equanimity lasted only until she followed Weiryn and the Green Lady into the main reception room and saw the paintings had _grown_ , expanding from handy portable size to as big as the wall to which they somehow remained attached could compass. Colours and intensity had not diminished, and she knew she wasn’t the only one to hear Sakuyo laughing. Diamondflame had rippled in, taking up a considerable space even so, and was gazing at the vast images with interest, as were Wuodan and Frige. Royalty was making its way round Diamondflame’s tail with Tobe, staring.

            “I told you.” Weiryn’s voice rang with amusement. “There’s a package and a note for you as well.”

            There were—an oblong package on which casually beautiful Yamani calligraphy said _For my son_ that she knew must contain portable copies in which nothing would have been lost, and an unbound scroll resting on it addressed _To my favourite daughter_. Cross as she was she handled it reverently but the message, in the same gorgeous brushstrokes, was in parent-to-child and another teasing lesson.

 

_Keladry-chan,_

_Don’t be so cross with me—you may look at what you did and laugh at yourself while others admire you. You’ll be the better for it._

_You are entirely correct that I noticed the little girl whose mother saved the swords, and upon the need to let you grow wholly as yourself, without even a feather-touch of our aid until you became a knight, I have built my finest jest in an eon. I adore you for it but all you endured has sadly stunted your sense of humour. Console yourself—my lesson is kinder than my sister’s, and I promise the learning will bring as sensational a reward._

_I’ve business elsewhere but I’ll be back. Look forward to it, and give your husband’s leg my regards. Your estimable parents too._

_S._

_Delightful architecture, by the way—those basilisks and ogres do good work. Tell Geraint-sensei I look forward to a long chat; there’s a temple to me planned in Edo and he has interesting ideas. Oh, and tell Sarra she should have a look at your kitchens—she’ll like what he’s done there._

Wordlessly Kel let the scroll close and looked at the silent people who had gathered, then the Green Lady. She waited until she was sure her voice would carry the right complex of tones, with the laughter she knew wasn’t entirely hers almost inaudible beneath them. Almost.

            “He says I have a stunted sense of humour and you should have a look at my kitchens. I’m going to sit down now, if I can find anywhere I don’t have to look at myself being so very heroic. Would somebody please tell Prince Eitaro he’s acquired some extra luggage?”

            Then she made the mistake of catching Dom’s eye and they were both lost. It was, she thought not very coherently, a tribute to Lalasa’s skill that she could whoop laughter in her wedding dress, and interesting to watch Kiyomuri’s face through her tears as Sakuyo’s laugh joined her own and Dom’s in a caress they both felt and all heard, while across the room Prince Eitaro went to his knees with as joyous a face as she’d ever seen on a Yamani in public. Even when she’d recovered some dignity a bubbling good humour welled in her breast, reconfirmation that her efforts before the elemental had chosen her had been truly her own mingling with the truth of Sakuyo’s lesson in the way she could see the intrinsic exaggeration of the paintings magnified. On the walls she really was a ten-foot fantasy visiting fire on the deserving, a trickster as unreal as the illusory dragon; and here she was on the floor, life-size and beginning to think food a fine idea except she’d had another and went with Dom across to Prince Eitaro to offer him a hand he took with a surprised look, and haul him to his feet.

            “Most honourable but not necessary today, my Prince. _Petals in water rejoice with the thunderstorm : another fine mess._ ”

            His face lit. “Truth, Keladry- _sensei_. Your laugh too was wonderful.”

            She looked down at herself and up at the first painting. “Only consider the difference—that yawning gap is where Lord Sakuyo’s ironies found their last touch, and patronage of a Tortallan ensures he too is caught by his jest. And then, I was alive to laugh, and very much in love, so I did.”

            “Many truths and wisdom too, _sensei_. I shall tell His Imperial Majesty.” He glanced past her. “But others await you in your triumph.”

            She smiled and bowed, friend-to-imperial, Dom following her in—she blessed him—an uncertain but higher mode and they were both included in Eitaro’s reciprocal imperial-to-friend. Those waiting were Jonathan, Thayet, and a whole constellation, and they all wanted to read the letter but Kel blithely ignored hints, offered exactly the explanation she’d given Eitaro, and went with Dom to welcome those still entering.

            Thereafter the evening-with-gods fragmented again, though laughter ran through it on a great tide of hope and gratitude. The presence of everyone’s dead in the final painting was a comfort, the unbelievability of all three a distancing from reality remembered. Sakuyo’s great irony made a place for more ordinary desires than divine justice and deliverance from war—desires she and Dom and the other newlywed couples who spanned the generations embodied for all who celebrated with them; a future in which children could grow up and adults old peacefully. The problems of Tortall were diminished, and unless one of the eastern border nations became suicidal warfare wasn’t going to be among them for a while. Roald the Peacemaker hadn’t made much peace—just ignored contradictions—but his son had ended conflict with Carthak, Yaman, and now Scanra, with the Copper Isles to follow.

            There were, though, a few things she always remembered clearly—the food, proclaiming that the Green Lady had done more than visit the kitchens; dancing with Weiryn while Dom partnered the Green Lady and Daine’s numinous grin; Junior discovering himself in all three paintings and becoming entranced; Kitten lighting every stone of the balcony in great washes of colour; and the conversation with Diamondflame that came afterwards as he lay along the terrace and she and Dom rested on his forepaws. He had sounded apologetic.

            _I must beg some days of your time. I could say the Dragonmeet wants to thank you and it would be true, but it is truer that parents of the dragons who wish to become Guild apprentices desire to meet and measure you for themselves._

“Oh glory. Well that’s only right. When do they want to come.”

            _They don’t. They would like to see you in the Dragonlands._ She and Dom both blinked, looking at one another with wild surmise. _I had wondered if you intended to travel for a honeymoon._

            “Um, once everyone’s gone we mean to ride the fief together.”

            _And how long before your guests depart?_

            “Not long for most—a day or two—but longer for the Yamanis and our close kin and friends. Who knows when we’ll be together again?”

            “There’s your birthday, Kel, in two days. Tobe has plans.”

            _A birthday? You come of age?_

“I do, yes.”

            _Well, that must be respected. But it would be better not to keep those dragons waiting. How about the day after, for three days?_ Adult dragons didn’t wheedle but you could have fooled Kel. _Skysong could come._

            It obviously mattered, Kitten was bouncing, and Kel met Dom’s look with a hopeless shrug. “Of course.”

            _Excellent. I shall see you then._ He rose. _Farewell, Protector. A most enjoyable mating ceremony._ _Farewell._

            The last word was generally audible and people on the terrace turned to wave as he flowed across the level. Others came out to see him slide over the palisades and as he spiralled up he could be seen as a great cross silhouetted against the summer stars. Tobe wove his way over, concealing disappointment.

            “He’s gone, then?”

            Dom met her gaze and she felt his amusement spark her own, as richly as before. Grandma had disapproved of their not taking a proper honeymoon at once, contending there was good reason for newlyweds to take themselves out of everyone’s hair; she could hardly argue with three days in the Dragonlands, nor boast of it to her acquaintance without endorsing all. Kel reached to ruffle Tobe’s hair.

            “Don’t fret, sweeting. You’ll see dragons again sooner than you think.”

 

* * * * *

 

On the ides of August a contemplative Kel found herself sitting on her balcony in late morning. Her pregnancy, showing a little, made a wonderful excuse for idleness, a department in which Dom insisted she’d been slacking, not having stopped in years; there was something wrong with that logic but she did seem to have come to rest, and inactivity was oddly welcome. She couldn’t plead morning sickness, which had not been fun but had been brief, and she was amused with her indignation at not only being grateful for one of Neal’s teas but actually rather liking the stuff. But then she didn’t actually need an excuse.

            She wasn’t yet officially on leave from her new post as army district commander, releasing Wyldon to return gratefully to Cavall, but only routine was happening and her deputy at Mastiff was dealing with it. Uinse’s New Hope First were on duty, Dom’s Second had the corral, Brodhelm’s Third were patrolling her far-flung fief, and Mikal’s Fourth were now stationed at the bridge, where the settlement had become known as Dragonstown. There was wagon traffic trundling down valley needing to be checked, but Uinse’s duties as captain of the citadel interlocked with Fanche’s and Saefas’s as town stewards, and Lasner’s as comptroller, and all that was under control. And there were pilgrims, adding Lord Sakuyo’s paintings to their _Drachifethe_ visit: there was no charge for seeing them, but the _Pilgrims’ Progress_ , established south of the corral, was doing as brisk a business as the _Smugglers’ Rest_ and was, on Dom’s cunning insistence, owned by Kel and rented to the veterans who ran it with profits split fifty-fifty. It did mean people traipsing in and out not so far from her, but screens in the Yamani style protected her privacy and a guard made sure people didn’t wander where they shouldn’t—so there wasn’t much for Kel to do except write a commentary on Orchan and eat for three.

            Her chair was comfortable, the writing table perfect, and the light excellent—which it shouldn’t have been, as the shadow of the fin covered the balcony even at Midsummer, but that was dragons for you. On the rockface enormous curved icelights spelled out Ctheorth and Yr, the Fire-bow, and the dragons had incorporated feathers requested from their sunbird cousins so the great sign blazed with sunshine by day, warm as well as light, and faded to a glow at night. Officially it designated the dragon embassy; in truth it was Diamondflame’s thanks for stumbling her way to a prophesied bridge and taking young dragons under her wing; either way she was as grateful as the grass and plants flourishing around the house.

            The Dragonlands had been more fun for Kitten than for Kel or Dom, though Dom enjoyed flying and Kel liked it better with his arms around her. The defeated Separatist dragons Daine had warned them about hadn’t been in evidence, only perturbed curiosity, and Kel had had to tell her tale one more time with as much reference as possible to her faint understanding of the timeway and contacts with Kitten, Kawit, and Diamondflame. The experience of addressing the Dragonmeet was one to wonder at, but concerned parents and eager offspring had been familiar. Diamondflame hadn’t been joking that there were dragons with a century for each of Kitten’s years who had mastered less magic, for the simple reason that they’d never needed to. The darkings were right—the Dragonlands were _dull_ , and while there had been a ban on visits to the mortal realm, and sufficient hostility from gods to put the Divine Realms out of bounds to the underage, only Kitten among younger dragons had been anywhere else. Food seemed plentiful, adults self-absorbed and fractious, and kits expected to learn by themselves.

            The root of Rainbow’s caution was the fact that the half-dozen younglings who’d fledged, and were thus eligible to become apprentices, were by definition in their teen centuries, between fifteen and twenty-five feet long, which did make for problems administering discipline. Most had been excited, with parents nervous of placing offspring in mortal care; a few were arrogant about the notion of learning from mortals, with parents who seemed delighted at the prospect of being rid of them. After a few hours patiently answering questions Kel had realised she was in the same position as Diamondflame had been in the mortal realms—an oddly potent visitor—and in half-amused exasperation became quite brisk. The restriction to fledged dragons was absurd—Skysong did well, that was the point, so all that was needed was an adult to transport them, and the presence of younger kits would have a restraining influence on teens. At that point a small white dragon called Icefall—or Scamp, apparently—became Kel’s new best friend, having been less than resigned to waiting eight centuries or so to become an apprentice, but it was Kitten who won the point by scolding the adults in good round terms for being silly. Ten centuries of idle ignorance was no basis for adult life, she’d survived two mortal wars, and they thought New Hope in peacetime too dangerous for kits that couldn’t fly away? Excuse her, but what exactly was their reasoning, and what did they suppose the many beings did who couldn’t fly whatever their age? The effect was as if an infant had risen from the crib to dispute philosophy in a bass voice, and the argument was settled when one of the more arrogant teens declared it had nothing to learn from a baby, however talkative. Kel requested from a silently observing Diamondflame a complex stone structure of some kind, and when a bizarre branching form he called a coral appeared she asked the teen to light it up. The result was a muddy green glow that covered only half the branches, after which Kitten played brisk rainbow arpeggios over the whole thing, making it blaze so brightly the teen stepped back in alarm.

            “So, you can’t do light properly, quantity or quality. Fire?”

            Some thin wisps spiralled from the teen, nearly scorching one of its parents. Kit pulled them in before they did any damage, gave a scornful chirp, and dropped a neat circle of proper dragonfire over the teen, which winked out before it damaged the grass.

            “And you can’t do fire either. Is there any point asking if you could work out how to merge a light spell and a basilisk’s rock-spell so you could make a permanent light? Of course not—have you even _met_ a basilisk? Ogre? Spidren? Stormwing? Centaur? _Anything_ except your reflection in a pond? You’ve a lot to learn, however many centuries you have, and not just from Skysong. With fire control that poor you can’t defend yourself or anyone else, you’re a menace to all around you, and of no discernible use whatever. So as Dom and I, and Kawit Pearlscale, have just as much a veto on any candidate as Diamondflame and Rainbow, and Skysong has already earned Journeydragon status, I’d suggest you try being polite and asking nicely rather than making silly boasts someone a hundredth of your age can explode quicker than you can make them.”

            It seemed no-one had spoken plainly to young dragons in a while, certainly not mortals or babies; the net result was sixteen dragon apprentices in residence, including Icefall. Morning classes in immortal and mortal knowledge, necessarily held on the green as the teens had yet to master spatial magic, still had a somewhat random flavour as anyone with a particular skill or experience might find themselves giving a lesson, but there was a systematic element from teachers Kel had recruited from the City of the Gods—a historian, a linguist, and a man who studied trade and finance, to begin with. There were also a couple of mages Numair had selected sorting out neglected basic theory and skills, finding out what dragons could do others couldn’t, and studying illusion and cloaking spells with Quenuresh and Kawit, who looked after firespell practice with help from Kitten. Afternoons were project based, which presently meant shaping to their own satisfactions the clifftop by the abatis as a dragon dormitory and creating a home for the Guild College, excavated in the fin. Basilisks and ogres had to do most of the work but dragons could observe, think about design and what was needed, and receive excellent physical and magical exercise removing stone. Other projects were running—a house for Fanche and Saefas, to a design Geraint had completed before receiving an urgent plea from priests in Edo; extension of the piped water supply to include hot as well as cold; and a proper, large-scale map of the whole fief Kel urgently wanted that provided fledged dragons with the necessity for controlled, slow flight and precise observations of distance. More were being planned around things the Guild already made and how they could be improved, or might make and how that could be possible, and those exercises had already borne strange fruit. Icefall _was_ a scamp, but a delightful one, and had in sheer, exuberant determination learned the hovering spell even though he couldn’t fly: he couldn’t get very high, nor for long, but he’d impressed Kitten, who was practicing hard, and Quenuresh, seeing the spell worked, thought it ought to be possible to store it in an object that would lift whatever it was attached to—and _that_ would be very saleable indeed, so experiments were proceeding. It raised the interesting question of what dragons would wish to do with money or Guild credit, which Kel had relayed by darking to Diamondflame and by letter to Jonathan, pointing out it was a new market Tortall was in a privileged position to exploit. She was looking forward to replies and already had ideas—not difficult as all young dragons thought hot southern spices a most excellent addition to food, and it needed a lot of spice to flavour a dragon-sized portion—but just now it was good to sit still and let ideas look after themselves.

            Some of her indolence could be traced to a pair of kittens asleep on her lap in a heap of paws and tails. Bringing them home from the Dragonlands Diamondflame had detoured half-way across the Divine Realms, to show them the mind-melting beauty of a sunbird display and because the Green Lady had invited them to dinner. That had been an experience Kel and Dom treasured, though neither thought they’d care to repeat it too often, the food being so extraordinary in mouth and stomach they’d felt full for a week, and the company too unnerving. Lord Gainel had been there, though he’d had to speak via one of the others, and a variety of animal gods, including the Badger, Bear—every bit as large as the pelt Gareth had—and Broadfoot the Duckmole, who was very odd indeed, if nice with it. And there had also been Queenclaw, whom Kel had thoughtfully stroked into much purring before mentioning the marmalade queen who’d been so valiant at Rathhausak—very deserving and waging a lonely battle against mice beginning to be found in the caves where food was stored. In the week after their return a remarkable variety of cats had shown up, including several pregnant queens, and the mouse problem was retreating fast while almost anything anyone wanted to use now probably had a cat sleeping on it—which was less annoying and certainly less consequential than mouse-soiled food, and had the side-benefit of kittens to sit on one’s lap.

            Kel’s ease in pregnancy was also attributable to the Green Lady, who even more than Weiryn was grateful for the chance to see Daine more often and had expressed it with her proper power. Besides informing Kel that she carried fraternal twins, male and female, there had been an infusion of divine magic; what it did for the twins besides ensuring they grew healthily was moot, but it eased Kel’s back, stomach, and bladder. The Great Goddess’s repairs had left her in excellent internal shape but would not have spared her the usual inconveniences, and Yuki had been teasing her with a certain indignation, which bothered Kel not at all. The later stages of Daine’s pregnancy had also been eased by her mother, and she’d borne a son—Rikash—early in July. She and Numair had gone to Corus, but with Kitten as a Journeydragon and the lure of parental access they’d be at New Hope often. Numair said he’d have been there anyway because the work the Guild was beginning to do made it as interesting a place magically as there was, and his proposed seminar in interspecies spell-blending was producing applications from mages far afield. All immortals in the mortal realms were fiercely and practically interested, and many representatives would be coming, including a _kudarung_ ; there was also to be a scholarly section of experimental results in the quarterly _Journal of the Craftsbeings’ Guild of New Hope_.

            Immortals also featured in Kel’s commentary on Orchan. She’d never deviated from his principles but had extended them in a score of ways, from Quenuresh’s concealment spells on rocknets to obsidian spiking in killing fields and paper-thin petrified screens to conceal mageblast bombs. Wyldon insisted she write about the spiritual warfare she’d used to split Maggur’s forces, and that was going into a second section, to follow the commentary: one wanted the best possible fixed defences, but there were ways of using them effectively that depended on appreciating one’s enemy. Kel found the idea of herself as a military historian as inflated as being a countess, but as Wyldon pointed out and Dom agreed it would be another source of income, and the fief—especially the Scanran half—was going to eat all she could generate for years, so she was persevering and after some cogitation added two sentences opposite the paragraph about the siege of Rostholm.

            _Carefully timed, the release of rocknets will also discourage giants, and where there is a glacis of sufficient height and angle may sweep them off their feet into injurious or fatal falls. Rocknets should be concealed by magery, but metal-cored rope (with correspondingly powerful mageblasts) is recommended to prevent premature release by slashing in advance of an attempted escalade._

            That would do, and she read on until she came to the end of the chapter and sat back, stroking a waking kitten. Soft voices gave warning and Dom came out with Forist.

            “Don’t get up, love—just a report.” He saw the kittens and chuckled. “So that’s where those two got to. The cooks were down several sausages this morning and muttering darkly about cat pie.”

            She grinned. “I had to pay for some sausages Jump had stolen the first time I met him. Perhaps we’d better have a sausage fund.”

            “Perhaps we had. Meantime Forist’s had Alanna pop up in the fire.”

            “Copper Isles?”

            “Tell her, Forist.”

            He consulted a paper. “She sent greetings, Lady Kel, and said the Rittevons had fallen. The Prince and Princess Regent are dead and the new ruler is Queen, ah, Dovasary Haiming Temaida Balitang. There are pockets of resistance but the new order holds Rajmuat, and His Majesty has recognised Queen Dovasary, as have both Imperial Majesties. She and Baron George are sorry they’ll miss you at Midwinter but they’re going with the official delegation to the new Queen’s coronation to see a friend.”

            “Ah, good. Thank you, Forist. Except for that last bit could you make sure Queen Barzha and Cloestra are informed? They probably know but we should be sure.”

            “Of course, Lady Kel. I’ll do that at once—Cloestra was on the gatehouse roof a while back.”

            He left and Dom went to get a chair from the reception room, setting his stick against its arm and stretching out his leg.

            “Cramping?”

            “No, just stiff. Too much riding. I’ll have to take it easy too.”

            “I’ll do the riding.” They grinned at one another, pregnancy having stimulated Kel’s appetites in more ways than one.

            “I take it that last bit from Alanna meant young Aly is safe.”

            “I’d think so. And with a _raka_ queen consolidating her position and repairing damage done by the Rittevons …”

            “Yes. Refugees turned raiders though, maybe.”

            “Probably. Even so.”

            “I wasn’t complaining, but we should let Anders know.”

            “True. Plans for this afternoon?”

            “Company paperwork. It can wait if you’ve a more interesting idea.”

            “More a hunch it might be time to go to Haven.” She’d told him about her invitation to the Hag and nodded at his questioning look. “I may be inventing things to make myself move but …”

            “Your hunches are worth heeding. We’ll go after lunch. Meantime, one of our pilgrims today is an artist who wants to do a portrait. He has a letter from Master Orman, who says he’s good.”

            Kel made a face. “If I never see another portrait of me it’ll be soon enough but I wouldn’t mind one of you.” Dom made a face in turn and she grinned. “And I’d definitely like ones of Neal and Yuki. And”—her eyes gleamed—“Kitten, with her Journeydragon medallion.”

            “Now there’s a notion.”

            The surprised artist was game, Kitten went pink, and after they’d eaten they rode gently across the valley, leaving preliminary sketches in progress. They had an escort, more for form than need, and once Jacut had checked Haven was deserted Kel asked them to wait at the foot of the roadway. The knoll with its memories of horror and present peacefulness was a place of pilgrimage too, and offerings had been left on graves; Merric’s had some, and Seaver’s more, for most were on those of men who’d died in the siege, from relatives who came to see where they rested. Kel did have a feeling something might happen today but wanted time at the mass grave anyway, where a wide, obsidian headstone she’d dedicated a month before bore the names of all buried there, and though it might be foolish she and Dom spent a while telling any dead who might hear how New Hope was progressing.

            Beyond the grave were two new shrines, one to the animals who had fought and died for Haven and New Hope, with a dog, cat, sparrow, horse, and mule, as well as wild birds, and one to the Hag as goddess of graveyards. Tobe had helped one of the panel-makers carve the goddess with eyepatch, cane, dice, hyenas, and rats, following a Carthaki model Numair explained, and after praying for the animals Kel and Dom knelt to tend it. She’d transplanted some of Sakuyo’s little flowers and they were thriving. When they were done they sat back and Kel lit a cone of incense, taking Dom’s hand and watching smoke spiral into the sky. Silver flared behind them and the Hag grinned as they twisted to bow awkwardly, her hyena’s tongue lolling in the afternoon warmth.

            “Greetings, Protector, and to your mate.” She looked critically at the shrine, sniffing. “Not bad, dearie. Nice incense. Nice rats too. My most northern shrine, by a long way, so it’s a good bribe. And saying you had an offer for Dabeyoun was a nice touch—he’s been pestering me to find out what it is.”

            “Dabeyoun?” Kel nodded to the hyena, who grinned back. “Not Slaughter then?”

            The Hag cackled. “No, dearie. But they were littermates. Now tell.”

            Kel sat straighter, clasping Dom’s hand and addressing Dabeyoun as much as the Hag. “Well, I’ve two problems. One is that as you can see pilgrims who visit Haven leave offerings, including coin. We’re collecting the coin for something worthy, but knowing there’s likely to be silver here is a temptation people could do without. The other is that Wuodan told me the Hunt won’t pursue anyone up here because your Da’s hand lies on it so Haven’s potentially a refuge for people who don’t deserve one. As you’ve a shrine here and Dabeyoun features so handsomely on it I wondered if he and his kin might guard Haven.”

            “Huh. They might. What’s in it for them, dearie? Or for me?”

            “The Hunt takes a fair bit of game. My woods should be rewarding—or the Godborn says the dogs say her Ma’s blessing on our kitchens extends to bones. We could put some aside.” She thought Dabeyoun looked interested. “And for you, High One, well, besides that dance of the dead, which should have pleased you, and your shrine and enough offerings to give it some potency, because I _am_ grateful, despite everything, Kyprioth seemed to think he owed me a reward I’d be happy to trade. I imagine he’s in a generous mood with news from Rajmuat.”

            “He’s insufferable already, and His Spearness in a mighty sulk.” She didn’t seem displeased. “Your credit’s good and it’s a pretty graveyard. The dance was nice too, though it was practical, which ruins the fun. I’ll think about it, dearie, and Dabeyoun can talk to his kin.”

            “Thank you. I was thinking it all began with necromancy—for me, anyway—and a graveyard that really is a haven seems right to end it.”

            “There’s that. I’d like to see the necromancer who’d try it here, mind. And so would Dabeyoun, he tells me, so that’s a point in your favour. I’ll let you know.” Silver gathered and faded. “Oh, he says he’d like to take a look around. He can find his own way back when he’s done.” Silver flared again, leaving the hyena looking at them with an inquisitive expression. Kel drew breath.

            “Greetings, Dabeyoun. What would you like to see?”

            _You, mostly. Wuodan and Frige say you are polite._

            “Why would I be rude when I’m asking for help?”

            _I have no idea but many mortals are._

            “More fool them.” Kel considered the handsome, peculiar animal. “Forgive me, but Numair said you were a guide for the dead. Is that right?”

            _Among other things. The rats and I also represent death beyond even Lady One-Eye’s resurrecting._

            Understanding clicked in Kel’s mind. “You must be a trickster in your own right. And you laugh at the chance and justice of it all.”

            _Oh yes. That necromancer you killed has heard me, and his Scanran friends._ Dabeyoun sounded satisfied and Kel shivered a little; truly, Blayce, Stenmun Kinslayer, and Maggur had paid as much as anyone could, and the world was better for it. _If I accept your proposal, no dead will walk here save with my let, and fugitives from the Hunt who enter will not leave again._ His tongue lolled.

            “Will you let the kind dead watch here, when they wish?”

 _I expect so. It has already been permitted._ He yawned, teeth gleaming. _Those bones sounded tasty._

Kel knew when not to push her luck. “There are some waiting for you.”

            They rose, Dom stretching his leg and looking at her with quizzical love. “A hunch, eh?”

            “And a dream. A good one, as it turns out.”

            She linked her arm through his and they went, Dabeyoun trotting beside them and looking about with interest. Jacut and his men blinked to see a hyena with Lady Kel but took being introduced and sniffed in their stride and asked no questions. Some at New Hope might be more surprised, but they’d learn. She had.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more, even after all these words, the shorter and funnier sequel is _The Temple of Sakuyo_ : follow the New Hope Series » link below.
> 
> FYI, I've also written critically on Pierce -- an essay called 'Of Stormwings and Valiant Women', in my collection [_Of Modern Dragons_](http://www.humanities-ebooks.co.uk/book/Of_Modern_Dragons.html), available in PDF, Kindle, and deadtree formats, and a little reader's guide to _The Immortals_ , available from [Humanities-Ebooks](http://www.humanities-ebooks.co.uk/book/Tamora_Pierce_The_Immortals.html) and the [Kindle Store](http://www.amazon.com/Reading-Immortals-Fiction-Sightlines-ebook/dp/B00A9HARL6/). An equivalent guide to _Protector of the Small_ , with notes, annotations, an essay, and a note on PotS fic as a resource, is in many ways a companion-piece to this fic, and includes comments by TP providing new extracanonical data on Jump, death magic, killing devices, and other things, as well as more discursive comments on women in combat, and more. It also is available from [Humanities-Ebooks](http://www.humanities-ebooks.co.uk/cgi-bin/trolleyed_public.cgi?action=showprod_LENNARDPROTECTOR) and the [Kindle Store](http://www.amazon.com/Reading-Protector-Fiction-Sighlines-ebook/dp/B00F4HMBHE/).
> 
> Tonnocal has done some fanart of New Hope, which is very pleasing and pretty. It's back-to-front (or top-to-bottom) from my p-o-v, but has splendid contours all the same, and you can see it [here, on deviantart](http://tonnocal.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d5ich8s). My warm thanks to Tonnocal for it.
> 
> For those who like their barding the Metropolitan Museum has just, marvellously (and irritatingly, because I could have done with it last year) made available for free their entire out-of-print back catalogue, including the wonderful [_The Armored Horse in Europe, 1480-1620_](http://www.metmuseum.org/research/metpublications/The_Armored_Horse_in_Europe_1480_1620) (2005). The PDF takes a while to download, but it's well worth it.
> 
> And if you want a really disturbing glimpse of what a spidren might be like, try [this short video](http://hominidanimation.net/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Lady Knight Volant"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689218) by [Makoyi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makoyi/pseuds/Makoyi)




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